mornings are for the beach:
whispered self-conversations
and singing in the underpass,
the clearest i can hear myself
peeking out under baseball caps
and sneaking around town
as if i don’t live here anymore,
which i guess i don’t
staring too hard at the sky
and sometimes-nighttime escapes
driving in cars that aren’t mine;
going around, going nowhere,
and everywhere: choked by
memories in every place we ever went,
making this place feel like less of a home
and more like a crime scene
i do not know how to stop feeling haunted
there are suitcases at the end of the bed
and none of them are mine,
the ghost of you is teaching me
how to run.
and – what, you thought i would stay
just to watch you be in love with her?
just to live in the knowledge
that you no longer want me?
you thought i would stay for that?
maybe i am that masochistic,
maybe i really did love you.
but maybe some people can love
boundlessly,
without drawing lines,
putting up walls.
and maybe i
can't.