Cold knees knocking together in the pale sunlight. Click, clack. Click, clack. Two hands stretched out, grasping for something just out of reach. So, you’re here. I’m here, too. Did you notice?

If I screamed with the force of a hundred siren you still wouldn’t hear me. It’s not me you’re reaching for. It never was. So I’m left behind again, all shattered kneecaps and lost hopes, a heap of bones and flesh and skin, looking up from the bottom of a lake. Did you notice?

If I counted my breaths every time I spoke to you, it would be a different person you’re talking to. I wouldn’t be me, but maybe that way I’d be the most of myself. I sit still and let the smell of your skin drive me mad. Did you notice?

By the river you said I frightened you, that I was all pain and no gain, that I was poison and violence wrapped up in gasoline. I’d rather set fire to myself than let you leave, I thought. You left anyway, and left me behind. Did you notice?

I loved you in the spring and I loved you in the fall and I loved you in the winter, but all that’s left is a smouldering wreck and the crash of you has been wiped from my mind. I didn’t love you in the summer. How could I? Did you notice?

Remember that night we went out and got drunk under the stars and you kissed me until I couldn’t breathe and we fell apart, panting, laughing, gasping for air? Yeah, me neither.