For years, your hellos
meant “welcome home”.
I was a soldier
every time you walked in,
running to you homesick
and wounded, looking
for the end of the war
inside me.
You put the
fires out every time,
defused all the ticking
bombs, declared my heart
a peaceful nation for
once –
finally.
How was I supposed to fall
out of love with you?
You didn’t even have the
decency to turn into a
monster;
The nerve to still be
your gorgeous self.
You ray of sunshine,
you light of my fucking
life –
I wasn’t afraid of the
dark until I met you.
The audacity to stand there
and continue to embody all
that is good and beautiful
and holy.
How dare you?
To become both my pain and
my healing, my executioner
and my very last wish.
Now my heart is a country
in turmoil, war-torn and
ravaged, bombs going off
everywhere,
a famine of the soul;
How dare you carve yourself
into my skin then expect me
to just shed you?
Rings on our fingers and
rings on our skin,
you were it for me.
Even now, I love you
is sub-text for everything
we say,
even “I hate you”.
We know this.
When I ask how you’re doing,
I’m saying you’re still
the love of my life.
I know your “I’m fine”
is just I miss you.
Blanket reality with
niceties.
We are so fucking polite.
Last night, I realized again
that I lost you.
It comes in waves.
It washes over.
I came to you gasping for
air.
I said “hello”.
Solecisms 