the night begins to dress the earth
as i kneel beside the windowsill
watching the stars, the only part
of the world left unchanged.
and i listen to you breathe,
your sighs soft like an autumn day.
the nape of your neck curves
like a crane dusted with wanderlust,
its wings unfolded toward the moon.
the way your legs tangle
around your idea of a perfect girl
makes me sink to the floor,
draping my arms around my legs.
i stare down at my kneecaps,
one an oval, the other a full moon –
you would’ve called this imperfection.
but i kneel beside the windowsill
searching for train tracks and
airplanes that’ll lead you home
because even though you tore me apart,
i need to know that when i set you free
you’ll be going someplace better.
and the moon will sigh at the sight
of two not-quite lovers parting, but
i forgive you.
i forgive you for
dreaming of prettier green eyes
and softer skin and
telling me i would never be good enough.
because after i stitch myself back together
i’ll be strong enough to move the stars
closer to the windowsill with my eyes
and stop the effluvia of tears
that’ll pour from my soul every time
i think of you,
breathing.