they read between the lines,
but they'll never understand what goes on beneath the ink.
they won't see how every word i write somehow
transfigures itself into the letters of your name.
it reminds me of how you used your lips to trace
the pattern of your initials on my skin
and how you were always so afraid of letting go of the past.
they'll overthink this as if it's a metaphor for something
of a deeper meaning, but i've never truly understood it myself.
i'm still trying to comprehend why you left without any warning
or why you threw me away as swiftly as you picked me up,
but i'm beginning to think
*there is no underlying message.