I always thought
we’d move in together.
Cram all our stuff,
our thoughts,
our hearts
into one small flat;
not quite in London but close enough.
I guess some things don’t work out,
though.
Now instead of this space being filled
with your presence
it is full of me missing you;
nostalgia seeps between the cracks
in the paint,
in the walls,
in the last crumbling pieces of our relationship.
When I go outside
in the unforgiving wind tomorrow
the last specks of us will
leave my clothes
like a spirit leaving a dead body.
Still in the world
but not existing where it used to.
Not where it hurts
like salt in an open wound.
May 7, 2018
May 7, 2018 at 4:10 PM UTC
I always thought
we’d move in together.
Cram all our stuff,
our thoughts,
our hearts
into one small flat;
not quite in London but close enough.
I guess some things don’t work out,
though.
Now instead of this space being filled
with your presence
it is full of me missing you;
nostalgia seeps between the cracks
in the paint,
in the walls,
in the last crumbling pieces of our relationship.
When I go outside
in the unforgiving wind tomorrow
the last specks of us will
leave my clothes
like a spirit leaving a dead body.
Still in the world
but not existing where it used to.
Not where it hurts
like salt in an open wound.
