The closer you got, the more I clenched my fists nervously and avoided your gazes. A poor attempt at avoiding the inevitable close proximity that we both weren’t going to protest.

Its nice to hear children laugh.
Not until its 1am.
my kid always disturb me with laughter
not but at the mid of night.
i went to her grave to beg her.
Neither will she listen to my apologies.

when she was younger,
she thought growing up
was the extinction of
her younger selves
to create an adult self.

now she knows
these past selves
are living within her
and will always be there
as her new self keeps evolving.

she needs to host reunions
and invite her younger selves -  
for fun and memories,
laughter and spontaneity,
to remember her roots.

when the goodbyes are for good,
after months of caving into yourself,
sadness spilling out of yourself,
you begin to let go of the things that only ever almost existed -
but died before they could live outside of your mind:
the weekend getaway to new york city you almost booked,
the christmas lights on the roof we almost put up,
the 'i love you' that you almost meant.

you learn to let go of the potential happy endings:
throwing our caps up at the graduation we almost made it to,
the hidden trail we almost hiked,
the new year's eve kisses we exchanged for almost 4 years in a row.
but there are things that still swell beneath the surface -
every exhale threatening to spill the words i almost said,
every memory embedded in a cinematic masterpiece so beautiful that it can only be viewed through rose-coloured glasses.

so i lay them down here:
a graveyard for every almost,
a cemetery for every possibility,
a sanctuary for every end of the line disguised as a new beginning.
and i let them rest in peace.
i bring them flowers once a year,
daisies because they remind me of your smile.

i pay my respects and mourn the love that could have been.
i thank you for almost being the best thing that ever happened to me.
i thank you for the laughter that almost lasted forever.
i thank you for almost loving me without end.

"Love is so short, forgetting is so long."
Pablo Neruda"

We've been apart
now for awhile, and
the pain has begun to
subside.  But today, something
triggered it all fresh
and sharp.

I ran across some
pictures of your
****** that you let
me have.
It makes me sad
to look at them
for hours on end.
I may be reading
too much into the
three different views,
but in one of them,
your dormouse seems
to be whispering,
"I miss you Thomas,
we had so much fun,
you and I."
In another shot,
the light hits little Jezebel
just right (she loved it when I called her that.)
And I swear it seems as though
she is pouting, like she's sad too.
And the third picture is
the hardest to view of all.
It's in black and white
so it has that artsy film noir
look to it, like a sad french
mime.  Quite artistic as far as
closeups of vajayjays go.
It has the fussy, pouty
look to it, with a twinge
of anger, as if to say,
"why did you break up
with that great poet who
idolized me, and took such glorious
pictures of me."  It seems to be
beckoning, "Please take him
back, maybe if you do,
he won't drink so much and
disappear for days on end
with your car, and then come
back smelling of *****, and
old painted up ******."
It really breaks my heart
to look at that one.
I'm almost crying as I write
this because Jezzy looks so sad, and
lonely, and a bit angry at
you for selling my collection
of baseball cards.