officially it has been two years,
unofficially one.

I am happier elsewhere, and I can imagine you are too
still you remain
my inspiration for poetry,
art,
and my thoughts.

when I see her there with you,
I am not sad,
and I am not not happy
mostly, I wonder —

do you think about me still?
do you compare her to me?
I did, I compared him with you

even though I promised to him and myself
that I wouldn’t

but the mind does what it wants

do you fight like we used to, loud and aggressive?
or does that require years of confidence built up by baby love

do you love like we used to, admittedly & comparatively selfish and shy?
or was that our teenage bodies remaining in us past our 20th

mostly I try to remember how being freshly loved by you was
so much intense frustration, in all ways,
endless giggles, but often nights with dawn sorrow.
of course, I need to remind myself that there was bad
my mind tries to only highlight the good with you

mostly I wonder how such intense fighters
could turn to such formal friends
and mostly, I am disappointed that you haven’t
told me about her yet.

Then
We were always keen on space talk
We discussed what stars meant for us
I know you didn’t believe but
We wished on falling stars
We planned on where we would go together when we finally could

Today
I can’t remember the constellations
that I used to trace on your back
I had maps and shortcuts to all fissures and valleys
I really knew you inside and out

The black hole that the many conversations created
took everything that I had had in my capsule
One day someone will find it and dig it out
BUT REALLY
It could only be you again.

We spend the weekends together,
and send "good nights" during the week.

Lonelier than ever,
yet loved more than over a year —
You're the only one that knows.

If I have to catch myself at least once a day
to not
let those three little words spill,
I know I've made a mess.
I can't feel like this!
But feelings don't listen, dear.

In just six months I know we'll be apart:
"It's better this way", I tell myself.
But why does it hurt?
Why am I scared?

A strange limbo
I cannot explain
No, not even to myself —
Then how could I confide in friends?

I cling on to the hope
that we'll find our way back
because I think, I feel,
I hope again:
All senses that I had lost the last years.

But at the same time
I remind myself,
of how I did feel.

Maybe over time
we are just meant to
crumble to less than friends
and then lovers again,
and again.

three times we have made it to the northern sanctuary
each carried its own significance
each with its own emotions to bury

one: honeymoon phase
a new beginning, an exciting future
the only constant being us
celebratory boats, bikes, birds

two: friends join
a year in, half a year not all in
shadow follows me around
a week spent in anger, one or two exceptions there

three: pretentions
i hold it together, 1 and a half years in, you know
how much
i crackle, snapped and popped after
i did not dare show my emotions; grin!

it seems so silly to complain
about a luck that i have gained
a nice house
my own car
education, health,
and a loving family

anyone would look at me
with the silliest face
what am i thinking,
what a disgrace?

my problems are peas in comparison to others
but hey, i have feelings,
please don't neglect them.

a nonstop pressure
and accidental unappreciation
suddenly i am the girl
who has everything: "appreciate!"

i have not quite learned,
to love,
or lose,
or myself

"these will be the best years of your life"
echo in my mind
over the sounds of my gasps
for air, in between tears-

sometimes from laughter,
sometimes,
more often, from loss,
or perspective of it.

pretending
"yes i love it"
"yes i'm having a good time"
is not convincing
me
the only person,
important in my own happiness;
the hero of my emotions

learning to say no, stop, over now
learning to contain
a shout, a judge, a scream
not quite, but a little bit

the [best] two years of my life
have now so suddenly received
a forecast of much rain and clouds
always on the brink of hail.

there is a gun pressed to my chair
not sure whether to feel safer or more scared
the room is tense
waiter sneaks glances onto the young man, no older than 25
rolling his dice could not be louder than the 45 dB
silence, easier recognition just in case
i ask my dad not to take a secret photograph
fearful