When I was little
I used to trail my finger through the dust on the TV screen,
Creating pictures on the darkness,
For no reason other than boredom.
I wonder if that’s why you trailed your fingers along my cheekbone.
Boredom.
Is that why you held on so long?
Is that why you only really saw me when I couldn’t see you,
And why it was only in my weakest moments that you could tell me
You didn’t like what you saw?
Or did you hang on because you meant what you said,
Because every time you said those three words
They sounded more and more warped to me
Like
You were choking on the barbs of a fenced in promise.
I remember that day that we sat on the sea wall by my house.
I chain smoked cigarettes and you tried not to look,
It made you scared to see me killing myself.
That’s what you said.
But I don’t think that was it,
I think you couldn’t look because with every exhale,
You watched an ugly part of me become even more consuming,
And you didn’t want to hate me, not really.
Because you loved me so much once.
That time in the park,
The first time under the tree and next to the pond,
When I smeared nutella on your nose,
And we were both too scared to admit how beautiful we found each others lips,
Or
In the dark of that RV,
Seeing each other clearly for the first time,
You loved me then, right?
I wish I knew when it changed.
I wish I could hunt down the exact moment that our hearts stopped exploding,
Our eyes stopped widening,
Our love stopped breathing,
So that maybe just maybe I could stop the dull pounding in my chest
That starts to echo your name every time the lights go out.
I sleep next to another boy now.
He’s an artist too, and his hands trail over me with intrigue,
Without boredom or hesitation.
But they don't hold mine like yours did
Or make my spine shiver like I’m shedding the old me over and over again.
Only yours could do that.
But
Yours are gone.