Is it possible to take it all back ?
To be without beginning ?
To bloom without a seed ?

We see them,
passerby with
courteous smiles.
They're trying to be nice,
to make a friend,
be an ally.
Is there any more to kindness ?

I wrote you a book but it burnt
from my memory,
you may have kept the manuscript
but I suggest you shred it,
let it go.

This feeling feels foreign
yet it's like a new nostalgia.
I'm in love with someone I don't want around,
someone I can't stand to see
but to see them would be relief.
Because every day
was joy with her,
and she destroyed what
I knew to be happiness,
like I didn't know what it
was to begin with:
the warmth of a sun ray
in a cold dark room,
a kind stranger
into the end of
a summer day.