there were soap suds on the living room floor the day i got the call it's such an insignificant detail, but i can't get it out of my head some nights i dream of clouds that slowly morph into soap suds and a blue sky that slowly morphs into hardwood and i am melting into sheets, melting wide awake
i was dripping wet all over the couch in a pink bath robe sipping whiskey from a mason jar that you left on my bedroom floor
i heard his voice break when he said your name the second time and i tried to pretend my heart wasn't breaking to the tone of his decline
i broke a nail fastening my seat belt the following day, and cried so hard i had to pull over
it's the little things in grief that hit the hardest
you are faking just fine until you're not and then one day you look into a mirror that you are passing by, and you are struck by the tragedy in your eyes and you pray you're the only one who can see it but you know you're not
dark red circles under tired brown and white hope, you are veins extended you are ribs caving and smeared mascara you are pink lips and pale skin and you are dull in a city full of magic
and that makes you angry- angry is a new feeling so it knocks the air from your lungs as you pretend to type on a black keyboard in a tan office building
you swear some invisible force is pressing it's elbow to your chest and you're not sure if you want it to let up
you were vibrant in the night, lime green and electric blue hues illuminating my pillow cases
this place is gray- when did the fog dim the street lights, seep into the coffee shops, wrap it's calloused hands around studio apartments, and lines to registers in grocery stores for miles?
or was it there all along- you, with bright yellow words and hot pink kisses, were perhaps only a distraction, a white light in a sea of navy blue darkness- when they came to shut you out the colorlessness of weekday living between subway stations and bus terminals was suddenly visible to the naked eye?
for the first time, maybe i was just another naked eye
this is the terminal the point of connection and disconnection this is the terminal the irreversible end of something greater than whiskey in a mason jar this is the terminal im waving goodbye to something, as it exits the city, im not sure what but i know it's never coming back