Feb 2018
I cannot leave with you, she wrote,
You cannot stay with me.
It’s just, I want to hold you still,
to feel what used to be.
One day, I’ll ask if we can talk,
not to fix or to explain,
just to hear the way your voice
still gently folds around my name.
Sometimes I’ll cry, it's no one's fault.
Sometimes I’ll ask you not to speak.
like hope tucked in a matchbook spine,
too bright to strike, too small to keep.
If there is blame, then speak it low.
If there is mercy, let it go.
She slipped this note inside my coat,
still holding warmth,
still not yet cold.
You cannot stay with me.
It’s just, I want to hold you still,
to feel what used to be.
One day, I’ll ask if we can talk,
not to fix or to explain,
just to hear the way your voice
still gently folds around my name.
Sometimes I’ll cry, it's no one's fault.
Sometimes I’ll ask you not to speak.
like hope tucked in a matchbook spine,
too bright to strike, too small to keep.
If there is blame, then speak it low.
If there is mercy, let it go.
She slipped this note inside my coat,
still holding warmth,
still not yet cold.
