T h e r e  are images
of you blurred just on
the  very edges of  my
sight line.  My peripheral
is constantly catching you
fixing your glasses or watching
tv with one
arm resting on the top of your
head and the other reaching
out to  find me or messing
with  the  soul  of  your
loafers that couldn't
h o l d
themselves
together   after
eight years of traveling
this town with you.

sometimes if
you linger long
enough, i can
still feel you
even after you've
gone, i can still
feel you,
i can still

sometimes I
still taste you
on my breath.

I swear I've been doing really
okay.  I take  full breaths  and
I've  been sleeping  almost all
the  way  through   the  night.
I   don't  cry   w h e n   I  walk
through  the  l a s t  place  we
kissed  or  the   final    s p o t
where   you   told   me  you
loved me. I can watch your
favorite movie or listen to
yourfavoritebandwithout
falling apart. The antique
mall no longer turns me
i n t o   a   puddle   and
macaroni  and  cheese
only barely reminds
me  of  our   f i r s t
date. But last night
Kaitlyn and I went
to the  river  and I
stood in the same
patch of dirt where
I watched your notes-
all white and stark in the
moonlight-  begin  t h e i r
journey down south. I sat on
the big rock where Kaitlyn and
Chloe held my hands for what felt
like forever until my chest was rising
and falling  like normal (two months
ago almost to the date but god how
was  it not yesterday?) and  there
were  simply stars stars stars as
f a r  as I could  see, and t h i s
little,     tiny,     insignificant
piece  of  me  missed  you.

Paul told me to
******* as if
Brooke was just
an abbreviation
and I'm starting
to think that it is

i so often find myself
looking for a home
in men, in work, in
menial activities, in
angry runs where
I lose so much
breath my
lungs feel
like they
are

bleeding.

but I find solace in books,
page 3, page 10, 56, 145,
230, I don't ever want
to lose myself, i imagine
it's a sign of weakness,
or the inability to deal
with reality but the peace
is so alarming, it makes me
want to cry.

I'm beginning to annoy myself:


texting the ex-boyfriend with daily
problems knowing full well his girlfriend
probably wouldn't appreciate that and
wishing Paul would fall off his high horse
as opposed to getting off it, I still shave with
hopes of someone feeling my legs but let's
be completely honest with each other; I
don't even let my own father kiss my
forehead, let alone say a word to me
I hide behind the pantry door whispering
go away

let's be completely honest with each other:

I'm not sure what's happening to me.