You find her in the sky and in the dirt.
it is only now, when you have had to admit she is gone, that you figure out she had no idea if she was a person or a pretend
You see her in the fences lining the basketball courts in the city centre, find her smile on the top of a rooftop, smell her hair in smoky public bathrooms.
You are afraid of beaches now
the sand reminds you of her fingers, and although you at least can understand what reality is , it seems as though the ocean is covering her bones
hearts do break
But there is no desolate staring at ceilings, no punching of walls. Because you have already seen all that can be seen on your ceiling, and the walls will not let you touch them.
like some pacifist force field, all of the bony rage dissolves until you can never even touch the walls.
Windows are broken, and they smash so much easier.
Glass cuts and you pay damage repairs, but you never touch the walls, and no one ever touches you.
being attached to a dead person is like turning into a ghost.
They are dead, but everyone else has turned you into the living dead.
Invisible=lonely=dead
x=2y=3z
there is nothing sentimental about algebraic equations, and there is no beauty in cellular respiration.
you learn things that they will never teach you, in darkened movie theatres, and behind reference shelves in the library.
and at night you stare at bridges, hoping you will catch a glimpse of her heart.
If she was alive, she would be a bridge.
And you would be a light switch.