i found an old hoodie of yours in my dresser.
i promise i wont call.

is there a heart still beating deep within my chest?
are there lungs that still fill up with air?
is there a brain that still fires its chemicals?
are there still bones holding me up?

am i alive?
or am i just living?

Can we ever be friends?
Or is our weird collection
Of unfinished business
Far beyond repair?

its gotten colder,
the days are shorter,
my breath hangs in the air.
my skin has become dry and fragile.
my voice is weak and raspy.

its gotten colder here,
not because of the bite of january.
or because of the chill brought south.
but because you left.

again.

all of this anger,
this rage,
this irrational irritation that continues to boil over,
was once love.

it was gentle,
and kind.
it did not bite or maul.
it did not bare its teeth with the intention of pain.
instead, with the intention of tenderness.

all of this rage,
was once warmth.

it was intimate,
and tender.
it did not bubble beneath the surface with an endless blaze.
instead, it flickered in soft wisps.

all of this irritation,
was once affection.

it was constant,
and reliable.
it did not swing with the might and fury of a rouge soldier.
instead, it stood fortified within its bounds.

all of this rage, was once love.
a love i had for you.

i thought it was going to be you.
i promised myself it was going to be you.

now im promising to never speak to you again.

funny how the times change.

Ave Maria rings,

soft at dusk, the sky blushes,

hearts lift with the stars.