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.)
Aug 20, 2014
Aug 20, 2014 at 9:30 PM UTC
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.)