Monday, February 10, 2014


Smiles. Smiles. Smiles.
I remember too easily the smiles.
What can this say about me?
Besides how much attention a mouth contains.

A small curl of hair falling into place.
Leaning in and exhaling, and a smile.

I remember you this way.
I loved you, opportunistically and eagerly, blindingly.
The grief of events is long since passed, so there's no sting in the memory.
It was very weird what happened.
Blame me. Fault me. Cut me out.
It doesn't hurt me.
Not the way other loves did. Not the way other pains do.
I miss my painful ones. I miss the mistaken ones.
But I don't miss you.

Not for disliking you, or hating you, or ill-thoughts, ill-timed, ill-spent,
Not for petty reasons.
But for
how my mind has changed so much since then,
how my eyes see more clearly
how my heart beats more patiently
how my hands hold so openly
how my feet pace so surely

I am whole, and one, and singular
A little more boring
A lot more demanding
A great more expecting
Suspecting I am that whoever comes next
if anyone comes at all
Is someone who comes for all

But I see you leaning in
And I remember certain things, and words, and images

Smiling, smiling, smiling,
They are always smiling
but not for me
not for me
not for me
But for the fantasy

Who I am not.

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Is this wise?
Is this yours?
Is this love?

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