cinnamon tea in a chipped
thrift store mug
a minute ago
it was too hot
and now it's too cold

here and there
fast and then faster still
it all happened so quickly

i barely had the chance to blink
it all happened before i even
had the chance to stop and think

but the red light on 6th street
lasts a minute longer at midnight
and that's where i usually
come into my remembering

sometimes revelations hit you
less like a brick and more like a burn
it's a kind of hurt that stings longer
than the bruise of the initial blow

i guess you never know
when the last time
becomes the last

it happened so fast
you forgot all the times
you ached so ardently
you thought you'd become
symbiotic with the pain

but the idyllic recollections always linger
like scalding hot shower steam
hanging around a winter room
you illusioned elation because
it felt better than the truth

it was the last time
but somewhere deep down
you already knew
you held the feeling in your gut
begging for countered proof

you've unfolded the understanding
became transparent with the pattern
joy is punctuated by brevity
the very reason it tasted so sweet
on the tip of your tongue

time follows a template
of give and take
the longer you live
the more natural it becomes
to see your fair share of loss

and you know everything ends
you know the swift current of this
breathtaking experience in space
is the temporariness of existence

but why does everyone leave

a minute ago they were here, now
the sureness you cultivated is ripped to shreds
and thrown like confetti in the wind
and love is carried away
like it never held any weight at all

the wheel spins,
the last time
becomes the last
and yet again
you become just another piece
of someone else's past