ever since the end
of the longest thing I've ever known
I can't help but find myself
looking around for clues,
little pieces of thread
that hint at an unwraveling.
If I learn not to pick at them
can I keep it all in tact?
Can I keep you close to me?

When you seperate our books
into 'yours' and 'mine' shelves
I'm wondering
if it's so they're easier to pack.
When I'm not home
are you going through our pen drawer
to make your own portable ink?
Creating divisions in your mind,
color-coded cabinets
you can quickly grab and leave?