I didn't want your well-wishes.
I wanted your heartbreak
of us on the cusp of love
that would never bloom,
of inevitable separation without ever
voicing where "us" was going,
but that I was yours in truth,
but were you really mine to lose?
I want to know if you experience
the same hell
when you wear that white shirt,
when I wear those blue shorts,
I miss you and I'm trying not to,
I'm moving on and it's killing me,
the distance between
us is sowing doubts
that I gave my heart away,
but you didn't leave yours.
What makes me lonely and weary and bone-deep sad is not sucker punch tears, nor social media stalking, not even thinking of him with someone else (although that is a pain unlike any other);
It’s the quiet ephemeral caress that whispers in my soul:
“At times you may not remember,
But you will never fully forget
The yawning hole he once filled,
When it used to be a garden of flowers.”
My life is now a series of color coded calendars
I’m gonna forget you
and you’re gonna look for me
in someone else.
****, I miss you.
But I never kiss and tell.