I’m not sorry we were in love,
and I’m not sorry we broke up,
but I am sorry we couldn’t stay friends.
There isn’t a mind with only happy memories,
but I find myself living in those the most.

at least now.

It took me some time to get over the anger,
and the sadness.

But now all I think about is Mac n’ cheese at 2 am.
Hockey nights, freezing my *** off so you’d feel alive.
The first time I thought,  I love this woman, while you cried in my arms.
The first time I said “I love you, my dear.” sitting across the bed from you.
Making fun of the stupid people on the bus and their “it’s called two-s-day because it is the second day of the week.”
Watching you stay upright for an entire run down the bunny hill.
Waking up in the morning to the cracking of your back,
Going to bed with your toes bundled up in socks.
Kissing your forehead, because I loved all of you, even the parts you didn’t like.
Taking your rings off just to pretend that someday I’d put a different one on.
Meeting your mom and realizing that you are the same person only 20 years younger and 30 pounds lighter
Watching the sun turn your green eyes blue, then blue to green, then green to grey.
Drinking that god awful mix you thought was *** and coke.
Showing you what an actual *** and coke should taste like, and laughing when you said “Too sweet.”
The nights you’d lure me from the controller to bed with a lack of underclothes.
The mornings I’d ease the tension the night built in your back.
Feeling you quiver and gasp for air as you reached ecstacy with me.
The first time we reached it simultaneously… while watching hockey.
Hearing you say something in a kid voice when you were being cute.
The first time you kissed me, instead of waiting for my lips.
Always feeling super lazy when you had papers for class written a week out and I hadn’t even started on.
The way you held me after the cave broke me.
The way you held me when I saw you for the first time in months.
Snowball the bunny, and his ***** stuffed ears, I’m sure he’ll hate me forever.
Watching you struggle through Spyro the Dragon and not saying anything cause you hated people to tell you what to do.
The last time we snuck out to make love holding you in my arms.
The smell of your hair against my face…
I’ll always miss those moments my entire life,
I just hope you’ll miss me too.

I wish I lived in a world without heartache, again.
this isn’t some wish that love conquered all,
or that pain didn’t persist,
but a plea to whatever gods exist
to help me forget the last two years,
replace loss with wonder
a hope that I’ll be loved
and an inability to comprehend  heartache

Before her I thought the term was poetic
I thought it spoke of pain and lost love
that it was a symbol of what happens when something beautiful has ended
I didn’t realize it was an actual feeling
Being stabbed is sudden and sharp,
being shot is quick and violent
but being broken?
its unique, because it shouldn’t actually hurt
emotions aren’t supposed to hurt.

No one prepares you for the reality of a broken heart.
No one says it feels like your heart is trying to fall down your chest
all the while being twisted and pulled apart at the seams
and it seems that the pulling is forcing each beat
to last just a little too long
as it pushes your heart
a little too out of place, out of place, out of place
until it’s no longer your heart that hurts, it's your chest
each tear that falls deadens the weight
until there’s naught in your heart but a hollow filled with remorse.

Hardened hearts.
they didn’t tell us that it actually felt like stones.
someone must have stolen my soul
because it was never this heavy
and it’s sometimes worse than the breaking
breaking can be fixed
but you’re not sure anything can replace the thing that sits
on the rubble of what was once a heart.

Would we love knowing that the first crack splits into a thousand shards at the end?
That love never ends in just unhappiness, but misery?
Maybe not, but still,
someone should have told us.

You told me about the time he ***** you
how he got you drunk first so you couldn’t fight  back
how he ripped your clothes off and covered your mouth
but he couldn’t block the scream that tore from your lips when he… when he… when...
When someone else kicked down the door and beat him ******
you finally blacked out
and woke up crying because you still knew it happened.

You told me about what came after
he named it Belle, after his favorite Disney princess
how she was going to be smart like you, and aggressive like him.
she was going to be his little girl.
you couldn’t stomach her, it, that,
couldn’t name it because giving it a name made it real
so you didn’t, you ended it, that, her,
and called it nothing, except “a grand down the wrong hole”
It made me cringe to hear you say that.

You told me about the drugs
how you forgave each other and found a higher power
******.
He dealed, so you dealed, he used so you used
he got in a beef with a rival dealer so you got shot
you tried to get out so he found you two a better god,
****.
You told me it lasted four years
before your brother found out
locked you in a motel room
and watched you writhe and scream and die
how when it was over you felt love for the first time in forever
and it was bliss.
          
You told me about the breakup
how he waited for you after school
grabbed you and knocked you out
how you woke up chained to a bed
naked, gagged, alone with him
how he spent the week torturing you
shocking, beating, cutting, hitting… touching
how he split town after.

Then you told me you lied
he never existed.
You spent a year convincing me I was fixing a girl scarred by the most damning of men
only to tell me that the only broken thing about you was your word.

I think it’s actually real this time,
That I'm waking to sweet bird songs,
not the cancerous “Cuck-coo” from some clock at the end of her hall.

When I wake,
I want to see sunlight burning holes in window ledges,
feel the chill flowing down my cheeks
fighting the warmth falling up from my feet.
I want to smell that sick stench that says I stayed out one shot too late,
taste the combination of this and those that feel like trash behind my teeth.
Forget for that brief instant between this and what comes next,

That last night wasn't really love.

That the girl-on-my-right used to be the girl-who-could-ride
that too many drinks plus too many winks leads to  "My place?"
No hers.
that too many drinks plus too little cash leads to "Taxi?"
Let’s walk.
That too many drinks plus two a.m. leads to, well,
You know.

Before falling asleep I feel ashamed at forgetting her name
turn on my side, close my eyes, and wait for the Sunrise.

Only to be roused by the of the **** cuckoo at the end hall.
I want to punch Daffy Duck in the face,
break the road-runner’s neck,
introduce Donald to rotisserie,
and tie Tweety to the tail of a cat.
All I think of is rage
I could burn the clock, burn the house, burn... burn out, and pass out.

This morning is real, it feels real, at least the hangover does.
Last night's emotions are technicolor fantasies, only as real as the beak on an animated bird.
The sun slips through the blinds and finds a rainbow trail of clothing,
starting at the door and ending with our own little *** of gold.
I roll out of her arms and slide down that road
turning it into a line of lacy wears.  
Sneaking down the hallway I feel the sun’s warmth
and hear the birds chirping, calling me to the door.
Behind me, I hear the cantankerous pretender
crying from his wooden nest on the wall.
His sound almost as sorry as his message,
lamenting he can never break his cycle.
never can wake up and feel
what's actually real.