you ever just not know what to say? write? feel?
but then your skin feels him—almost, truly, feebly
and breathing
it was one kiss but i still...
he still loves me—
he doesn't love me
i still... i still
do you remember my red sweater?
the one i wore that day before leaving you?
i'd hold it to my face—as if to conjure the smell of you
and your handwriting's beautiful,
i don't care that it's bad, or that you
said it was
i still... i still vacuum the excess
but it never escapes
little jewels
little dust molecules
and little morsels of almost-nothing
that cling to my hair like snow
i still... i still...