Waving at you
I close the door
and it's as if
I've lived life twice.
'feel like I've shared this moment with you before.
Maybe I should tell you —
We kissed in the elevator once
and sat in the balcony with old wine in our rented apartment;
you asked me to marry you.
I'm never sure what I said.
Time has been swirly lately —
losing its shape.
I'm giving up
as I make smiles on the car window at dawn.
You have laughed 2468 times,
and fallen in love twice
since I melted
into a pastel drawing.
I think we lived for a longtime,
and made photographs of our
limbs, lunches, birthdays,
paints and wrinkles.
You didn't like sushi and I liked it very much and
we argued a few times.
I apologise,
I've lived life twice.
And you are moving on in this one.
No elevator, balcony, wine.
No photographs, birthdays, wrinkles.
Waving at you
I close the door.