If a person could be glass,
then she was porcelain.
You kissed her china lips
as if she would shatter -
at any moment.
You did not think your big hands
were fit to envelop her smooth curves,
but you held them anyway,
all too aware that chipped pieces
have edges of their own.
Love runs deep, but so does blood,
and even I know what it is like to be cut.

Years later,
when all is said and done,
you will twist in your bed,
drowning in empty covers searching
for a warmth you can’t remember
and a name you’ve long since forgotten.
You will wake up early to chase the dawn,
crawl through the narrow window
and scale rooftops,
perched on the tiles soaking up the sunrise.
Like she used to do.
Like you used to watch her do.

              I see the sun and the sun sees me.
             The sun sees the somebody I can’t see.

And you will love her for it.
But you will also miss her for it.

              God bless the sun and God bless me.
              God bless the somebody I can’t see.

When you wash your face at night,
you will stare at hollow eyes in a mirror,
looking for an imprint, a trace, a memory -
anything -
that could bring you back.
That could bring her back.

                If I get there before you do,
                I’ll tear a hole and pull you through.

But you will not find her breadcrumb trail there.
Instead,
you will find it in the plaster.
Under the sink.
Behind the curtains.
Promises etched in the wallpaper
she loved to hate so much.

I know you still listen to her favorite song.
You say you don’t know the words anymore,
it hurts too much to remember.
Apologies do not sound the same as melodies, my dear.
But you’ll sing it a thousand times over,
mouthing I love you’s
to fill the spaces she left behind.

A million miles away,
she is in some man’s display case,
on some man’s shelf,
in some man’s arms collecting dust.
She has put herself together again.

         And I’ll write your name on every star,
         that way the world won’t seem so far.

But sometimes,
she hums the tune, too.
A broken record stuck on the lyrics -
not lyrics -
she meant to echo back long ago:

I’m sorry.
I’m sorry.
I’m sorry.