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Pinky Quinones Sep 2015
Someone will tell you
that she's seeing someone someday
and she's happy
and your hands will stop working.
You'll have to work hard to hold
onto whatever you're holding.
I hope it's not glass,
I hope it's not breakable.

Suddenly you'll remember
everything that you ever loved about her.
Everything that ever moved you to tears,
made your insides feel
like they were tying themselves into knots.
That she was loyal,
that she was open for you,
that she smiled against your mouth when you kissed.
That it felt easy,
like God had put the two of you
together deliberately,
like it had been the plan all along.

But for whatever reason,
you let her go
and you thought that
it was the right thing
and for a little while,
it felt like you knew exactly
what you were doing.
Except now all the parts of you
that touched her knows
that you're never going to be able
to touch her again
and that hurts.
Even your fingers are sad,
even your stomach is aching
from the loss of it all.

You're never going to get that again
and that's why your regret
looks like artwork
that would have been masterpiece
if you'd finished it.
Your regret
looks plucking flower  
before it's bloomed.

So maybe you'll call her
and you'll tell her that you miss her
and she'll sound gentle on the phone
but not in love with you anymore.
She'll say
"we happened and we were important
but you let me go,
I'm sorry,
but you let me go
and that's how you'll know"

- Azra. T
Not mine.
Pinky Quinones Sep 2015
You are sun and I am moon.
I'll let you shine throughout the day,
But let me glimmer at night.
And on rare occasions,
let us align
and the world will
stare in awe of our eclipse.
Pinky Quinones Sep 2015
I am alienated from this feeling
until today.
It felt like home,
recognizable,
at ease,
simple,
without any motive to burn.
Pinky Quinones Sep 2015
Not much of a poet
but with you I am an avalanche of words
waiting to be written in paper
and you just sit there,
unaware of the effect
you have on my spine.

You talked about the weather
and I am awed on the rarity that a
topic as mundane as the weather
can stimulate my already
shabby senses.
Pinky Quinones Sep 2015
I love you.
You love her.
She loves him.
End of ******* story.

— The End —