I will no longer be the bed you stay in when it rains.
we face the dark together,
but you embrace the light alone.
when the clouds take their leave, so do you.
when the weather breaks, so do I.

I will no longer let you use my body as therapy.
your listening ear has gone deaf;
your hand to hold keeps its fingers locked.
the shoulder on which you've cried
had a person attached to it the whole time.

there are days where I feel like you are by my side.
there are days where you run ahead
while I take your shadow's place.
and there are others where our paths never cross
—a set of skew lines that know of each other,
but do not know each other.

if I have to keep guessing where I stand with you,
then maybe I don't stand anywhere at all.