we never finished writing our duet.
i don't mean that figuratively.
we were writing a duet
and we never finished it.

we had our two separate melodies strung
the lyrics were quaint but true

but we could never seem to piece them together.

you couldn't quite harmonize pleasantly
our voices didn't blend nicely

maybe i could have taken it as a sign.

we just didn't take enough time
didn't have enough patience

i've always been more of a soloist myself.

we never finished writing our duet.
it doesn't get more poetic than that.

when you're alone, you don't have to defend your motives
when you're alone, you don't have to have five good reasons
or three
or even one

every action has a consequence
maybe every action has an antecedent
sometimes i just don't want to investigate.

it's as if
everyone else lives to.

sometimes
i'm just difficult.
i'm just emotional, i'm just irrational, i'm just impulsive.

but if i was predictable, who would bother predicting?

it's embarrassingly easy to confuse people.

some days i don't even recognize me

that's when i feel the danger.

i've known myself my whole life

and still my reflection's a stranger



how can i expect you to understand when i don't?

how can i divulge my essence, not knowing how it would

look, or feel, or taste, or act -

not even knowing how it should?

smoke thickened
eyes glazed
pulse quickened
dizzy haze

smoke cleared
eyes sobered
as feared
flame's over.

predicting failure guarantees one the limpest success.
it ensures the consolation prize: "well hey, at least i was right!"

well,
hey.
at least i was right.

today i collected my meager winnings.
my suspicions were confirmed -
i was dead-on about the one conjecture i hoped i wasn't dead-on about.

as the rest of me fumed and ached and moaned,
my brain gloated about its tiny victory.
crowed, "i told you so."
as if rubbing it in could dull the blow.

it could not.
my flimsy rebate sure didn't make the wound smart any less.

i used to lie awake
smitten. enamored. giddy.
itemizing your sweet details
fondly reminiscing
the thought of you was too delectable to trade for sleep.

sleep is still elusive
you are still the cause
but the thought of you is sour to taste.
you unfailingly pervade my thoughts.
memories are tainted
exacerbated by the comparative sweetness they (you) once promised

i wish i could just collar you and make you hear all the things i tell myself i'd say.
until then, insomnia's got me clutched in its pitiless talons.

I NEVER BROKE ANYBODY'S HEART.
i am not a heartbreaker.

i never took your heart and tore it
or ruptured it
or lacerated it
or stabbed it
or even bruised it
or pricked it

i cradled it and amended it and nurtured it and treasured it and heralded it and championed it and polished it and loved it and maybe even meliorated it

and then, when i could do that no more,
when possessing your heart any longer would inevitably do it harm,

all i did was gingerly give it back to you
fully intact
the most delicate way i possibly could.
if it was broken, you did that yourself.