fifty-two sundays later and i
do not consider myself to be
someone who is healing but
someone who is recovered. it
still stings at the very bottom
of my lungs sometimes but i
no longer hate the areas of
my skin that you've touched.
i do not feel the fire of your
promises in my arms and i
can just barely recall your
laugh. did you ever think i
could have made it this far?

i have let you keep me up at night for
too long. there used to be a limit to what i
would allow myself to do- how much i would
allow myself to think of you, to remember your
temperaments and the sound of your footsteps-
but i think i've forgotten what and where that
line was. lately i've been scared to be another
placeholder, scared to get attached to someone
new, scared to understand someone else's hand
gestures. i used to love the way you could paint
our future with your fingertips across the air,
across my skin, across my skin.

******* how did you
make me never want
to be touched touched
touched please do not
look at me please do
not breathe near me i
used to crave hands
like they were homes
and i was traveling the
country but now i can't
imagine someone ever
putting their palms on
me or near me i've
been stopping to make
sure all the air intended
for my lungs has been
making it there but i'm
struggling with it every
day when will i be okay
when will i look at another
person and not try to find
you in their laugh lines
and unshaved face when
will i be sewn up from
the inside out i think you
ripped out all of my
stitching a long time ago