Nov 2015
3 AM is a time that doesn't exist to you
but I'm a night owl.
You laughed at that once
and said vampire sounded cooler
after which that Arctic Monkeys song always reminded me of you
the one on my Halloween playlist,
because it was autumn then.
It's the summer of another year now
and things may have changed
but the nights still find you asleep
and me awake with you in my thoughts.
I'm still just as confused
And your breathing's still just as steady
But something's slipped away
And I'm not sure how.
There's no one to send you middle-of-the-night texts
that jolt you awake
because I'm binge watching that show you told me about
connecting us for a second before you roll back over.
You're not religious
but I was told our paths are as predestined as the planets’ orbits
And I'm dealing with the fact our circles might be tangent
And the intersection's gone.
You're where you belong,
which is miles away, in bed,
not in my head,
and certainly not in my poems.
Come daylight you'll be gone.
but I'm a night owl.
You laughed at that once
and said vampire sounded cooler
after which that Arctic Monkeys song always reminded me of you
the one on my Halloween playlist,
because it was autumn then.
It's the summer of another year now
and things may have changed
but the nights still find you asleep
and me awake with you in my thoughts.
I'm still just as confused
And your breathing's still just as steady
But something's slipped away
And I'm not sure how.
There's no one to send you middle-of-the-night texts
that jolt you awake
because I'm binge watching that show you told me about
connecting us for a second before you roll back over.
You're not religious
but I was told our paths are as predestined as the planets’ orbits
And I'm dealing with the fact our circles might be tangent
And the intersection's gone.
You're where you belong,
which is miles away, in bed,
not in my head,
and certainly not in my poems.
Come daylight you'll be gone.
I really like the quality of this poem, which says something, I think, about the poems we don't want to write. I'm much more at peace with it now, months after I actually wrote it (it's autumn again) partly because I managed to reconnect with the person I wrote this poem about and partly because my feelings are fading away; they've softened at the edges and I know one day I'll just notice they're gone. I came to terms with the whole thing by voicing my feelings; rejection doesn't sting like you think it would, because it comes with closure. (And yes, we're still friends. For at least a while more, I hope.)
