It must be so easy to be you—
to waltz through life,
not knowing the daggers you
gently placed all over my body.

One for when we held hands.
Seven for my mind that fights you every day.
Eleven for my heart that hopes to see you again.

I wonder how you’d react.
Will you feel my stone heart
when you stumble on my writings?
Will you meet my eyes
if we cross paths by the lake?

I’d imagine you looking for me in her,
or her, or her—
my eyes,
my words,
my cold hands.

I hope I haunt you
like you do me.

Let’s both play this game,
until we are grey.

It took three seconds
for a cautious hello
to turn into a symphony for my soul.

I wonder if my walls still remember
the laughter that went on till dawn.
Since then, the mirror seemed kinder,
my legs moved quicker,
and my smile did not vanish.

I have never felt this way before—
sleep seemed futile,
hunger vanished.
I wrote about you
until my hands hurt.

I could feel your heartbeat
through the light blue shirt you wore.
The hidden patch of your beard was exposed.
Your words fell into mine—
look at our human noise.

The old couple looked at us in envy.
Maybe we will get there too.

The moon followed us,
and we heard wedding bells.
Your pretty hand fits well in mine—
just right.

I couldn’t wait to call you home.