"it's raining," she says. she doesn't look up.
"it's always raining when you leave."
"i'm not leaving," i whisper.
the bedroom stripped of warmth.
the humming of a bare light bulb overhead.
my companion the black crow
circling the edges of our days.
i had the lingering sense of doom.
the crow followed me into this love,
the way it followed me into the last.
she was wild. i was attracted to her wildness.
her picture in the corner of the mirror
in the bathroom, calm, so serene.
(he sees a woman who is already whole.)
the photo doesn't blink.
it just offers that hollow, perfect smile.
she looks like someone
who would never bring you sadness.
"is it falling apart again?"
"you choose the ones
who are already leaving," replies the crow.
"she mistook your longing for rescue."
you're trying to save her again." it says,
and i ask, "save her from what?"
the crow answers, " from the sorrow
she keeps mistaking for freedom.
she was gone long before this," it murmurs.
the door of the bathroom clicks shut.
i whisper," the photo only smiles---
that hollow, perfect smile.
goodbye," I tell the woman in the mirror.
"you were the only version of her that every stayed."
and the crow winks,
"sunset lingers at the edge of every sorrow."
"who knows the ending
before the first kiss."