our first kiss was at a busy intersection
at a stop light, the numbers counting down. i guess we should have known from there
that we weren’t headed anywhere good. (it was a good first kiss, though.)
on my birthday you wrapped yourself in a pretty red ribbon
and walked all the way from my doorstep with the biggest smile i ever saw you wear
(you weren’t wearing much of anything else, either)
and my lungs stopped their steady in-out, in-out, in-ou—
in my head i was laughing,
in my head i was crying,
in my head was nothing but ”shit shit shit shit i think i may be in love with him”
that same night you were on the phone and whispered words
from edna st. vincent millay’s love is not all and promised “i would never hurt you”
and my ears were ringing with all of your truth and i etched those eighteen letters on my walls on my wrists on my journals on every surface i could find
over and over and over and over and over
i would never hurt you. i would never hurt you. i would never hurt you.
january was difficult and it split me up into pieces and when i needed you most
you melted into the snow. into someone else’s sorrows that weighed more to you
than mine did. and that’s ok. you can go.
this room isn’t really meant for you anyway.
— you were a child and i’m glad it’s over