Tell me what you had for dinner and what you and your mom debated about across the table.
Tell me how every time she cooks alone you wonder what your dad would look like with his hands across her hips
like he used to do when they were in love.
Tell me how you don’t believe in love anymore.
Tell me how everything that is whole can be torn apart.
How you have transformed yourself from a plain block into a Rubix cube emerging from the perpetual change in your life.
How the colours no longer match on any side
no matter how many times you try to turn things around
You don’t know what to believe in
anymore.
Tell me you believe in her.
Tell me how hard it is to stay together and how hard it is to stay apart.
Tell me how you hate sleeping with someone beside you but you hugged her tightly in the middle of the night because even in your dreams you were scared to lose her.
Lately her side of the bed has only had your shadows surrounding it.
They wonder if she’ll be back or if they should change their address to your bed frame and tell the mail man to forward any letters meant for her to an address where the only kisses that wake her up are the ones that nameless men use to thank her for the night before.
The ones
That’s the thing about the calm after the storm, is it happiness or just relief.