I dreamt of you nearly every night this week
and I'm searching for the difference between love and manipulation.
I dreamt of you while his arms were around my waist and as he kissed the nape of my neck I wondered if there was any difference
between missing you and loving him.
When I was trying to quit smoking
we drank red wine from coffee mugs,
I called your green eyes celery
and you called my freckles coco powder.
You laughed as the red wine stained my teeth and I laughed because
it wasn't wine.
I'm thousands of miles from where you are now,
trying to be a grown up who spends her money wisely
and drinks wine from a stemmed glass.
I'm cooking your favorite meals,
I can't help but forget that I hate roast beef.
I'm tired of these wine glasses
and I can't find any coffee mugs to chip my teeth on.
I miss drinking out of them on Sunday mornings,
pretending it was coffee,
my freckles were coco powder,
your green eyes were celery,
pretending,
pretending,
pretending,
until we believed.
I keep saying under my breath not to think about you,
but I can't help but wonder what you're wearing today.
or if I miss you,
or if I hate you,
or if I've gone insane.
I dreamt of kissing you so passionately that the world around us disappeared and as I kissed you everything made sense, I think.
As I kissed you I played connect the dots.
I woke up and wondered if there was a difference between
holding a hand and chaining a soul.
I've been smoking a lot
but not nearly as much as I hear your name in the dark,
as much as I see your silhouette in front of the TV,
or feel your hands under the sheets.
I woke up this morning hating you
wishing I could love him with all that I have
but I've woken up and realized
that there is no difference between love and manipulation,
you have me in a choke hold
and I can't help but wonder what it feels like to breath
All I feel is suffocation,
my hands are cold as ice,
your favorite color has always been blue,
are you connecting the dots?
I've stopped drinking.
red wine.
I've stopped eating.
celery.
I've learned that love is an organic thing.
it deteriorates.
it softens.
it rots.