I know why I could only choke out “thank you”, instead of letting the “I love you”s that seethed in the pit of my stomach overflow through my useless mouth.

I know why I bit my tongue before I could allow my quivering lips to part and sing an aria of "forever"s dedicated to you. I would chew my cheeks to shreds until the taste of blood I yearned for coated the walls of my mouth. I savored the crimson slush, eagerly waiting for you to acknowledge me, your pet.

And when we finally kissed, you could taste the copper tinge on my tongue and the juice that lined my insides. It was a reminder that you’re holding something living. That I’m alive. That other human beings have feelings, and that this insignificant body, clinging to you like a newborn, was bursting with feelings for you.

I don’t know if I should be mad at you for leaving, or at myself for thinking that it would end any other way.

I don’t know how to tango, but I let you guide me with your two left feet for over two years. Now I’m stuck dancing the waltz of forgetting with your ghost. Our casual sways leave space for your name to linger, and every time his phantom hands twirl me around, your scent envelops me.

And I don’t know how I’m still in love with you when you’re in love with her.
I can’t turn that into poetry.
I don’t know how to make it beautiful.