the first time you told me you were in love with me,
it was in a letter                                                           ­       (you
and you didn't dare even write the word.                        never were brave                                                                  ­                           enough
                                    ­                                                        to love me
                                                              ­                              openly.)
the first time you told me you were in love with me,
it was when you were leaving me for him.                      (i wasn't worth
                                                           ­                                  the price;
                                                          ­                                   you did a
                                                                ­                             cost-benefit analysis
you never left me, really.                                                   and cut your losses.)
he left and we returned to what we were before
him, as if we'd pressed pause                                                  
if i closed my eyes i could almost believe
                                                            it would be okay
                                                            we were still glowing-gold
                                                                ­                             and perfect.
but instead of the synchronicity,
some unnameable tension, the jarring sensation
that something in us was out of alignment.                     (i asked you to                                                                  ­                            wait:
                                                         ­                                    give me time,
                                                                ­                             some days more to                                                                  ­                            play pretend.)
the first time you told me you weren't in love with me
was just after you told me you would have married me
                                                           would have run away with me
                                                              ­                               (as if i weren't the
                                                                ­                             teenager, here. as if                                                                  ­                            it were my fault
                                                           ­                                  for not being selfish
the heartbreak, the loss of ignorance                                and asking you to.)
was what brought us back in sync. you wrote once
about the end, the devastation that the city of us
was victim to.                                                              ­        (we're finding                                                                  ­                            that the damage is
                                                              ­                               less like an explosion
                                                       ­                                      and more like an
                                                              ­                               earthquake:                                                                  ­                            broken glass,                                                                  ­                            aftershocks, and
the first time i told you i wasn't in love with you             cracks in the
anymore,                                                        ­                     foundation)

i didn't know why, hadn't noticed the cracks in the pavement;
                                                       ­    i had only just started to see
                                                             ­                                the shards of glass.

you kissed me ten days ago, and said you didn't know why
it didn't feel wrong, why it didn't feel like cheating.
it's starting over again, i told you. the glass is being swept up,
our pieces falling back into place.                                    (it's the natural                                                                  ­                           order for us;
                                                             ­                               this, darling, our                                                                  ­                           effortless cohesion,                                                                  ­                           will always
                                                                ­                            rebuild the city.)