the market was covered with silver,
old vintage lighters and hellish hipsters,
you asked me what my problem was,
when we stood there in the mirror,
staring at reflections of hands intertwined,
your feet already cold and staggered.
i said, the issue is i don’t have any
when we’re standing here together.
oh i thought - just give me one good reason.
i want the idea of you more than i want,
steadfast peace and solitude, stable,
sometimes forgetting what alone feels like,
knowing that i’m still able.
i should probably leave us here -
but, knowing that i’m too stubborn,
to let bygones be byes and gones,
still lingering into a prolonged exit -
so i stay with you another month.
i’m never gonna love anything good for me,
centrifuging parts of my identity,
pretending i’m not attached to concepts
and hefty bets on changes -
and it takes one to know one,
so i see right through you,
now i don’t even know your address.