Winter's end.

While we were tangled for warmth
I drew your picture.



I hope you drew mine

Bent, not broken.

The undeniable truth, that I failed, isn't what I suffer through at night.

My dreams are tortured by the moments that I kept my smart mouth shut.

I allowed my spine to curve beneath the weight of silence, 

unspoken objections,

I let these seconds pass by unscathed when I should have been fighting every single one. 

There was no glass of cold water to wake me up.

When nothing is left,
nothing touchable, nothing reachable, nothing notable
there is nothing to keep the physical from becoming liquid.
The inability to hold onto myself is the twisting knife I feel relentlessly.

I'm so exhausted by it now.
Trying to rebuild a person is an ocean, trying to survive as a shell of one is the universe.

I'm not sure there will ever be a worthwhile lesson learnt, there aren't any mistakes made that won't be repeated.
I like to look behind and underline how much I have changed,
but I still can't stomach the thought of touch, nervous that it will reshape me once again.

I thought I hadn't been this person before.
Perhaps I have.

Drunk.

Jane,

she said.

I don't want to waste myself on unrequited love.

Gold rings,

bright with rubies.

I kept all those important promises.

Yours Faithfully,
his name.

I saw the light on from down in the street.

Each,
I thought.

The black dog followed me home again today.