i lost you -
there was a moment
suspended in time when i
watched the collision in
slow motion.
i can’t explain it,
not here ,
not in writing,
not when i can still
see your body ricochet
against the wall every
single time i close my eyes.
not when i break my ankles
time after time,
kicking myself for
inviting you over,
for wanting a mint chocolate chip cone,
for freezing and
being too late.
i’m breaking my wrists
time after time again,
the star you became
blinking at me during
each crunch of bone.
what happened to me?
what pixie dust did you
sprinkle over me that i
now cannot function without?
all i can see is the
chocolate hair you so despised
sprawled across the
kudzu-covered train tracks.
our speaker continued
blaring the music we
loved in the background,
even after the sun has
set, the train lights had
startled us, your bike
had been demolished right along
with the brain that i
molded and shaped with
you since kindergarten.
bruno mars claimed you
could count on me. but
could you? now, i’m
here and you’ve
drifted to somewhere
and i’ve got no way to
keep in contact.
i’ve lost your address,
i’ve lost your favorite sweatshirt,
i’ve lost your smell,
i’ve lost
you.
i read the letter you write
on the backs of my postcards.
they’re the only things that
keep me remembering
you’re actually here.
the tears
fall onto the
muddy ground
all around her,
trees looming over her,
peering at the
loney, out-of-place
girl that can’t help but
disrupt the forest with her
sobs of unfortunate solidarity.
when the boy
glides through the
dying trees,
locating her in seconds,
he offers a hand to
her, places a finger
to his lips, and she
suddenly is free.
even the quiet girl needs you.