i.
there are two
different
faces that i see
when i close my eyes.

both are lovely
and bring mist
along with their
heartache

ii.
but neither will
bring their gaze
to meet mine.

iii.
she saw me, once.

iv.
i retreated
into myself, as i
always
do.

v.
i fixate, i
know.
it might be a
coping mechanism.

but her lips
were beautiful
and her hands
fit
in mine
and i think

vi.
i might have loved her.

vii.
i saw her, once.

she squeezed back
when i took
her hand, and

viii.
i still have
the piece of her heart
she slid
across the wood
into my grasp.

ix.
i see them both
when my subconscious
has the reins. (it
makes me wonder
if, perhaps, i
haven’t quite rid myself
of the self-hatred
i’d shed with the season.)

x.
(i’ve been
teaching myself
not to
blink.)