When she wrote,
'happy new year',
she wanted to say,
'I'm sorry it's not with you'

When he wrote back,
'happy new year to you too',
he wanted to say,
'happy for who?'

Today I went looking
through old messages
for the moment
it all began to break

finger-tracing old words
like scars on glass,
hoping one might split open
and finally confess

I guess, I am both the surgeon
and the body on the table,
steady hands
- or are they shaking?-

as I open myself
just wide enough
to bleed

I keep searching
for the cracks on
our messages
and our photos,

as if spotting the moment
we stopped smiling
could stitch the wound shut,

But the more I dissect,
the more I bleed,
into the margins
of the autopsy report

Her love was a voice
on the weekends
a phone call
a promise
a breath between meetings

We were raised
by routine hands

Teachers
Father
Babysitters

Borrowing time
And taking turns  
As mother figures

The candlelight 
flickered 

the only witness

to the silence between us

Menus in hand,

but nothing to choose

that we hadn't already tasted

Your eyes

scanned the room
like it might hold
a better version of us.

The waiter brought
two glasses of wine,

and I drank both

as if the bottom
held a reason to stay

Two plates arrived,

and we picked at them,

like archaeologists 
sifting
through remains
of glory days

And when the bill came,

we split it,

as if we'd been rehearsing
how to leave for years.

I kept moving

a blur between places,

names half-learned,

mornings that began

already running

the wind at my back

felt like freedom,
but I never asked

what I was chasing,

or what was chasing me

I kept moving,
avoiding the silence
that carried the questions
I’ve spent a lifetime
outrunning

If you saw me

unvarnished,

unscripted
would you stay?

You'd know the cost
of loving someone
who's learned to disappear
before she's left.

You might step back.

or worse,

what if you stay?

and see me crumble

in your kindness

I don't know
if I could survive

being loved like that.

Come closer,

but only to the part of me

that I've made beautiful.

the part that photographs well,


Come closer,

but only to the part of me

that's been edited, rehearsed,

where the light hits just right,


Come closer,

I promise I'll make it feel real.

I'll mirror your needs,

and keep the temperature just warm enough
to trick us both.

You won't see the pain
beneath the glitter,

the part that's starving,
but serves a feast.

I'll be radiant.
I'll be unforgettable.
and you'll swear

you've never met someone
quite like me.