No matter where you were
or who you left me to
Who you left me for
or why;
I’ve written us down.

I’ve remembered every sound
every word, every curve
of your lips and
your waist.
I wrote it down.

We share a bad habit
of always coming back here
after all of our disasters;
and we spill into each other
as crimson ink
on the tattered pages
of a borrowed book.
It stands out.

I replaced our lapse in time
with a project of a girl,
a down in dumps
lost and lonesome soul —
a fixer-upper.
And still I wrote to you
and of you.

I wrote how
we’d tread lightly on new ground
each time, safe
at a distance
carefully timing the old dance
that we do twice a year
never missing a step
but still missing.

And these pages go back
quite a way,
to the first shy hello
and the first lie we told
to everyone
and to ourselves.
Sometimes the sentiment
raw and explicit,
sometimes read between
lines and lovers
Even still, our story
seems destined
to rewrite us.