I feel invisible Yet you claim(ed) I am the air you breathe And perhaps like air I am always present, But presently forgotten
The heaviness of your hush is crushing me with empty blows This silence leads me to wander down a path cloaked in a heavy mist That whispers harsh truths such as: Our hopeless, fictitious, drawn out infatuation is like A library book that was checked out last March You underlined and doggie-paged the first few chapters And then left it on your shelf to collect dust all of April and May
I foolishly kept begging you to finish the book Read the last sentence Take time to skim over the epilogue Please Find your way to the back cover
I foolishly ignored your “I can’t”s
And now it’s late August and our love is long overdue, In the opposite sense of what the phrase typically means
I write with angry lead because I am too stubborn to admit I just filled a trash bin with tissues And that the cuffed sleeves of my flannel Are damp like grass’s morning dew
I have so much more to say, Although I cannot find the words To say anything more than
You should’ve written.
Because two weeks of nothing Was enough for me to realize that you are just a passing breeze Seldom present, presently becoming something of the past.