in another city, after Valentine’s Day,
i lurch around like i am missing an arm,
keep my hands clenched as fists because i miss the feel of your hands.
i slam my palm into my breastbone, i’m trying to self resuscitate
i walk further and further into the streets, stand by the long dead river
take photos of ancient edifices and sit in its dirty parks
i also, somehow, take up running.

no one comforts me
when i plant my face on the smooth metal of the train
i fall asleep more than i should
when i weep it’s more like a howl
nobody ever offers me a handkerchief
nobody says anything, they only look away when the tears start
i cry in the cab at 7:30 AM because a song you loved comes on
the driver pulls over and tells me to  “get out!”

i dream about the side of your neck, that tender tendon
only to wake like someone fired a gun by my bed
startled by its emptiness
i bought a nightlight because
my bed is three sizes and one person too small, so
i sometimes dream about waking up with other people
and i wake up with the tears already drying on my cheeks
sometimes i turn to the side and say your name,
ready to launch into a tale of my daily woe
when caught, i correct myself, slowly, but it still isn’t true
i still fish in the air for stories to give to you
those small offerings of the afternoon,
the before sleeping stories to tide your dreams over
i pluck them out of the sky
then wait for lightning
lightning striking
i keep telling people to set me on fire, but i feel like i am on fire.
i look into mirrors and see my face reflected back. two big eyes, bared teeth.
i ask my reflection “am i bereft?” cause i like big words


there are hearts strung up over the the corner of the street by the train station
there are hearts in the streetlights
i think of stringing mine up alongside,
wrapped in brown butcher paper, the kind you you wrap your leftover food in
here are the journeys of my February, the month is short
thankfully short
not long like our love
not anything our love

nothing like the way we are leaving



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