silly

And so I go back in time

Close to a decade ago

When things were much simpler

And I liked you

And you were mine

For the briefest time

And those same silly feelings

A nuisance, really; an inconvenience

I hear them at the door

Knocking and knocking

Telling me to indulge in this frivolous activity

Just one more time

When you hold me in your arms, pull me a little closer

There's a tenderness that takes me by surprise

For a moment, which feels much longer than it is,

We are something else entirely.

We never stood a chance

There's a finality to this

Your arm draped across my belly

The morning sun peeking through the curtains

Something tells me we will never find ourselves like this

Again

But then, we knew that didn't we?

We always knew this wouldn't last

So easily, casually naked around each other

So open with our bodies

But guarded with everything else

ridiculous

you will laugh now

scoff at the idea

but one of these days

you will look at a boy

-well, a man-

and realise that somewhere down the line

you will love this boy

with all you've got

and just as that thought

enters your mind

he will look different to you

something about those eyes

or lips

you'll think:

"those are mine

to love and kiss"

aroma/odour

We joke about a "cigar spirit", some long-dead relative

Hanging around the property, smoking his cigars, listening in on conversation

No one in the house smokes, and yet sometimes,

The waft of rich tobacco fills our nostrils

When Johnny Meowing, the first cat who claimed us when I was old enough

To take care of pets, old enough to understand the grief that comes with their passing,

Was sick, his kidneys failing, we lit incense sticks to keep the flies away

And even now, years later, the smell of citronella reminds me of him

Sepalika flowers are soft to touch, such a contrast to their leaves,

That one kind of jasmine, queen of the night, so small

Athamma, to me, is the fragrance of these flowers

Her coffin was filled with them, as was her wish

Calvin never made it to his fifth birthday, and in the months before his death,

Cleaning up vomit became almost a daily occurrence - we didn't mind it

Disinfectant wipes, although expensive, made things easier

Now, when I pull one out of a packet, I can almost hear his chatty meows

Whenever I think of you - rarely, now - it is the sickly-sweet smell of caramel that comes to mind

It always lingered on you, mixing with the smell of cigarettes and freshly-ironed clothes

Sometimes, as I unwrap a Delta toffee and pop it into my mouth,

A misplaced memory finds its way to my heart like a dart

Scenes from our lives

How will an artist paint us if he chose to?

Glasses on the table, varying levels of being full

Or empty

A bottle of arrack, coke, water, ice

Plates of rice, devilled meat

He may paint us with smiles on our faces, mid-conversation

He may capture hands being held under the table

A secret game of footsie, someone's looking at their phone

One rests their head on a friend's shoulder

An unconscious game of musical chairs

As some leave and others join

And people keep moving around the room

Catching up with friends they haven't seen in a while

If an artist painted us

I wonder what he would name it

What would he see being shared among us

That we ourselves are so unaware of?

And if someday we see it hanging on a wall

In a house or gallery

Would we recognise ourselves, our happiness

Would we look back at this day with fondness?

Word of the day: ukiyo-e

a genre style of painting and printmaking developed in Japan from the 17th to the 19th centuries and marked by the depiction of the leisure activities of ordinary people.

crumbs

In some cultures, the women eat

Only after the men have had their fill

What's left are the smallest pieces of meat

Curry leaves and rampe in gravy

The rice cooked by the women cold and hard by then

But when you are used to only having what is left over

You learn to accept without protest whatever is sent your way

No matter how abysmal

Even when your plate is empty

And you go to bed hungry

it is what it is

daisies to the sun

moths to flame

ants to sugar

you to another

and me?

alone.

Word of the day: Heliotropic

turning or growing toward the light

Approximate

how much time do you think we have

before we tire of each other

will we get bored in a month or two

or is the end just around the corner?

if you had to guess how fondly we'll look back at our time together

on a scale of one to ten, would your estimate be closer to

one (taking a big gulp of milk that is horribly sour, its aftertaste lingering all day) or

ten (licking the spatula clean after making a massive bowl of chocolate pudding)?

Word of the day: Approximate

to estimate

What this girl dreams of

Oh to take the train to a villa in Galle and relax by the beach

A pool just calling to you, while someone cooks one delicious meal after another

To take a cab back from Colombo after a night out

Down a cocktail or two before ordering a bottle for the table

Going from pub to pub, ending the night with karaoke

Forget all of that

But just ordering a delicious chocolate cake

Covered in a generous layer of boozy ganache

Taking your pick from an endless spread of seafood and meat and breads and more

A steaming hot pizza delivered to your doorstep, pairing it with a glass of wine

Oh to be happy and free of worry

Word of the day: Ganache

A whipped frosting or filling made with semisweet chocolate and cream,

used for cakes, pastries, and candies

life.

My mother tells me that my hair looks nice

"He did a good job trimming it"

My curls have settled well, she says

I smile in response, too ashamed to admit that

My hair gets this way when I don't bathe every other day

And I don't remember the last time I had a bath

Whenever I do decide that today,

I will wash my hair, shave my legs

Put on an outfit that doesn't look like a sack

A tiredness falls over me and I instead have a quick wash

And go back to bed

I share a picture of my cat with a friend and tell her

I can't post it online because I have promised myself I won't until I'm no longer sad

It feels like a threat to my brain:

You either get your shit together or lose the one outlet you have to vent

So far, it hasn't worked. I don't tweet. But I'm still sad

The truth is, I started hating myself, this person I've become

Always so tired and angry and sad and awful

I didn't want to spend another minute with myself

And the thing about hating yourself is that

You can never escape yourself

You don't need to tell me this is selfish, because I am aware

But I desire company just so I can be held

So I can rest my head on a shoulder, hold a hand that doesn't let go

To remind myself that I am still here

Still breathing, still present in this moment

You also don't need to tell me that this will pass, like everything else,

Things will get better, I just need to hold on until then

I am aware. I know.

But that doesn't make it any easier.

Bumbling idiot

I swipe right on someone who has swiped right on me

And the app gives me a 24-hour window to make a move

But how do you start a conversation with a stranger

You have no actual desire to date

Perhaps I should open a bottle of wine

Get sufficiently tipsy

Put on something on Netflix

Forget the app and instead have a nap

Mirror, mirror, on the wall

Yesterday, I saw a stranger in the mirror

When did I start looking this sad

I started crying, so turned my back to the wall

There's just so much ugliness one can take in a day

Dissent

Word of the day: Dissent

Disagreement with the philosophy, methods, goals, etc. of a political party or government

They say the aragalaya is dead or distracted

Far from reaching its goal of sending Gota home

And perhaps Galle Face is no more a Gama

But a sparsely populated desert, tents still erect

But you will still hear a voice screaming into a microphone

Protest chants that fill the air

Mixing with the salt of the ocean and tears of desperation

A struggle exhausted, but unrelenting

And one may criticise the apathy

The lack of participation

The disintegration of dissent

And from them, we must ask if they do not hear

The wails of a woman who watched her husband fall dead to the ground

After standing in line for days hoping for fuel, praying for kerosene

The anguish of a father who holds the lifeless body of his child

Who died because they couldn't get to a hospital in time

(And one wonders if there would have been a point in going to

A hospital with no medicine and no staff and no electricity)

The sighs of exhaustion, beads of sweat

Of men and women, young and old, packed into buses and trains

Praying it doesn't rain, hoping the streets are not in darkness

Knowing the money in their wallet would only get them through a meal at most

(But what does one do with rotting vegetables, weevil-infested rice

When there is no gas to cook a simple curry or two)

And as we are stripped of what little joy, what little hope we had

As we listen to lie after lie, promises of better days to come

If only we can get through the toughest of weeks that never seem to end

They sit in their air-conditioned rooms, fill their stomachs with the finest food

Laugh and joke about the sorry state of affairs in the country they set fire to

Not a thought given to anyone but themselves

Choice

I left the door open, sure,

But it is you who chose to leave

Best day of her life

Somewhere on the internet there is an album

Pictures from the best day of her life and one day

You will come across it and perhaps by then you would know

Or maybe it'll take you by surprise and you will hate us all

For not telling you about it, for letting this thing happen

You will go through the pictures, hoping to find in his face

A morsel of sadness, reluctance, a need to flee, run while he still could

Instead a smile, laughter, happiness, even

And it will break you in a way you never thought possible

It will feel like the worst pain you've felt in a long time

Her white sari, his grey suit, their poruwa, first dance

A newly married couple on the best day of their life

Almost mocking you from the screen

love.

Word of the day: inamorata

a woman who loves or is loved; female sweetheart or lover

Sometimes I fantasize about being a woman who loves and is loved

Coming home to kindness and warmth, a cup of tea waiting on the kitchen counter

Chicken in the oven, pasta boiling in a pot

Outside, the setting sun turns everything golden, ethereal

The bills are paid, the groceries done, the bed made and the wine chilled

A quiet existence, where voices aren't raised, fists aren't tightened

A love that is selfish, where the give and take isn't 50-50

Where one act doesn't have to be countered with an act of similar effort

Where you love in the way you know how to, and I do the way I know best

turn back time

would there even be an us

-as brief as it was-

if i hadn't been drunk that one night

and made the first move?

would we have had those handful of good days

now tainted by the faintest shade of grief

if i had been sober and you

still unsure?

let's get straight to it

Word of the day: hokum

out-and-out nonsense; bunkum

You say something about someone that I struggle to follow

Because all I can think about are your lips and how they feel when we kiss

We laugh at the end of it, and I have to stop myself from walking over to you

Instead I counter your story with something else about someone else

None of this matters, really, we are just trying to sound interesting or smart

Or funny or whatever else, even though none of it will play a part in how this night ends

Because we both know that soon

We will tire of the irrelevant, the stalling, and close this space between us

nocturnal

Word of the day: caterwaul

to utter a long, wailing cry; howl or screech

We are strangers to the sun, to daylight

They don't know what our faces look like

Almost like vampires, we only meet

When the moon is out, and stars light up the sky

In the early hours of the morning,

When cats wail and rats scurry across floors

We share stories from years ago

And laugh about the joke our lives have become

Somewhere between emptying glasses and bottles

And the tiredness that slowly creeps in

We find something for ourselves

That only the nighttime seems to bring

Maybe someday

we will look back at these days

with so much fondness, as if the bad, the ugly

never happened

you'll be married then, content,

and I will find so much joy in seeing you

doting over someone, even though that someone isn't me

and we will talk about our past with those who weren't

part of it without giving even a hint that

there was anything else between us

except friendship that made it through the years

and we will laugh at the silly things we did

the grand plans we had of conquering the world

the cheap wine we drank, songs we sang along to

and at the end of the night, as we say our goodbyes

we would hesitate

and linger for a second too long

and wonder what it would be like

if this home, this life, was ours

cows and pigs

Word of the day: Piebald

having patches of black and white or of other colours; parti-coloured

Somewhere a cow grazes a field

and a child asks his mother

why the sky is blue and birds can fly

but why not pigs and why not us

and the mother tells him to hurry along now

stop looking at the cow and asking questions

about why it is black and white

and not brown like the others

they had just walked past

and the child hurries along

walking around a puddle in the middle of the road

and not jumping right into it like he would have

if only he had been alone

and the mother lets out a sigh relief

because she now doesn't have to

wash mud-stained clothes when they

get home and can instead

put the groceries away and get started on dinner

It doesn't matter how long it's been

Word of the day: sinsyne

from that time; since then.

It doesn't matter now

It's been so long

You say

More to convince yourself

Than me

I've moved on

But it's never easy, is it?

When the one you once loved

Finds love elsewhere

And you are left stranded

Bobbing about in an

Inflatable boat

That almost looks comical

Until it starts deflating

The way your lungs lost air

The day he said

There was someone else

Drink up

We've reached the age where kissing strangers

Leaves no residue in our minds and hearts anymore

When he reaches for my hand, I know

This gesture will never again be repeated

He doesn't promise to call, I don't expect him to

We don't even save the other's number

This is the age of moments that disintegrate

As soon as we move on to the next

I run my hand through his hair, kiss his lips

And he unbuttons my shirt

But the sighs we each let out, the quiet consent

Is only for this one encounter

Tomorrow, he will find someone else

And this memory will be crushed

Beneath the weight of my hangover

Just one favour

Word of the day: Victorine

A fur scarf with long tabs at the ends.

Pick the best scarf from your collection

Make it fur, if possible, for it will feel softer

Wrap it around my neck and gently but firmly

Tighten it until I can no longer breathe

Give me this one thing, I beg you

Scale of one to ten

Word of the day: Cherubic

of or having the nature of a cherub, or an angel represented as a rosy-cheeked child with wings; angelic

Today,

I feel ugly

And before you say

One's self-worth is not

Determined by how

They are perceived or treated

By others

Know that, on any other day,

I would agree

Whole-heartedly

But today,

Just this one day

I can't help but look at everyone else

Their cherubic faces mocking me

And feel like a minus

On a scale of one to ten

Today,

I don't need to hear the truth

Sugar coated

I don't need to be told that

Things will get better

If only I could bide my time

They've all been wrong people

So far

The right one will come along

Any minute now

Today,

I don't need to be comforted

Or even pitied

Today, I need you to let me be sad

And angry and annoyed and

Irritated

I need you to let me be

Drafts

In my drafts, there sits a poem, for us

Incomplete, like us

Sometimes, I read it, consider writing the rest

Wonder if enough time has passed

For it to be just a poem

Devoid of any connection to you

But years could pass and those words

Would always always always

Remind me of the one night

That was ours

Bilious

Word of the day: Bilious

Extremely unpleasant or distasteful

You once asked me why I was so cranky and I didn't really know what to say

Because this is how I've always been and I can't really help it if the

Universe is just never on my side, now can I?

But a character in a show I watched a few days ago spoke about how

The anger within her could someday distance everyone from her

Leaving her alone, a gorilla in a cage with no one to take care of her

And I would be lying if I said that scene didn't bother me in the least because

Truth be told, I hate how angry and cranky and irritable and unpleasant I can be

It makes me so tired, by the end of the day, to carry all of that in me

Like bile, sloshing around my insides, burning everything it comes into contact with

It feels like I always have my guard up, sword drawn, ready to defend myself

Even when no one's around me, even when I can relax, take a deep breath

And maybe that's why you left, why no one ever seems to stay

Saturnian

Word of the day: Saturnian

prosperous, happy, or peaceful

the consequences no longer matter

we can't afford to think about what follows

we will do as we please

run naked across fields if we have to

drink way too much, hangover be damned

open our hearts, talk about our deepest fears

love and be loved

grab on to those fleeting feelings of joy

and make the world ours

we will turn the present into

one we can look back at fondly

when years have passed and our hair is grey

skin wrinkled, sight weakened

we will complain about backpain and

tiredness

all the pills our doctors have prescribed

down a shot of arrack

-still the best medicine-

and look back at these saturnian days

Roles reversed

Would it have been as easy if I had been the dumper

And you, the dumpee?

Would you have quietly accepted the end for what it was

And left without protest?

fragments

(Word of the day: disjecta membra

scattered members; disjointed portions or parts: applied to fragments of poetry or fragmentary quotations)

they come to me in fragments

words strung together

slowly traced back to you

we'll play it by ear

and see how it goes

i remember very little now

from those times

how many years have passed

since?

they don't need to know

this is between us

the space you occupy in my heart

has shrunk

it was bound to happen

crows mate for life

you know

i thought my heart would be

exorcised by now

there have been others since

so easily forgotten

no feelings

nothing that makes this difficult

but still, you are here

so stubborn

always so stubborn

did you fall

in love with me?

like the smell of cigarettes

that clings to everything

like wine that stains lips

i told you not to

Nubilous (Word of the day)

I stand in the aisle with the spices on one side and the pasta and noodles

On the other and I turn around once and then again

And look at the list that is in my left hand along with my

Wallet and phone that then beeps and it's about what

A protest march, another death in a queue, gas shortages

I don't even know anymore if anything more could go wrong in this

Country that they've burnt to the ground with their corrupt

Incompetent don't-give-a-fuck leadership such a joke

But wait why am I in this aisle with the spices, do I need spices

I don't think so

A trolley first and a person follows, turning into this same aisle

He stops near the sauces, ah yes, I needed a can of mushroom

Canned food is safe, you can keep them for much longer

The canned food is in front of the sauces, mostly a luxury now

We mostly buy essentials, even though we can afford a few luxuries

There is so much guilt when so many can't eat or feed their families

When we are looking at an uncertain future where we may have nothing

To eat ourselves

Just money printed, valueless, the soil on land inherited

My mother walks up to me, complains about the price of fish

A kilo of something or the other

Almost what therapy cost two years ago

I need to go back, have the slime and fog and dust and cobwebs

In my head cleaned and removed

But for now, we walk away with our can of mushrooms

Some vegetables and a loaf of bread

She asks me about dinner and I shrug because talking

Is more than I can manage right now

souvenir

I keep things, this is why my room is a mess

Train tickets I bought to get to work

Pieces of paper on which grocery lists are written

Receipts from restaurants, movie tickets

Cards from friends and family

Coins from countries once visited

Envelopes with birthday wishes scrawled on them

Bo leaves, once green, now brown

Stones and seashells

I keep things, they clutter every surface in my room

And in boxes are all the things my grandmother made for me

Little crochet hearts and bags and pigs and squares

Orange, red, blue, purple, pink and green

Every chain so carefully stitched

I kept them all because these are things she left me

But today, I threw one away that had a stain on it

Burnt it before I could change my mind

A month ago, perhaps, I would have kept it

But today, out it went with a bag full of

Receipts and cards and pieces of paper and train tickets

Years ago, I threw away that one gift you gave me

I kept it with me, long after it stopped being of any use

But one day, when I was cleaning my room

I put it in with some other things in a garbage bag

It meant nothing to me, it has been so long since we last spoke

Recently, I was sorting through a box full of notebooks

Collected over the years, one of the perks of the job

They were taking up space and one has to be stingy with space

And love and happiness and other things

I flipped through the books in case there was something of value

And found myself looking for things I remember you writing

Doodles and words

All I could find was my own writing, barely legible, large, ugly, messy

I remember your writing being neat and small

But perhaps I'm wrong about this

I'm wrong about a lot of things these days

But in the trash those book too, went

And now, I feel like I'm one step closer to fully cleansing myself of you

There are journals I kept during those times

And truth be told, you make an appearance or two

But I can't seem to part with them

They remind me of times, not necessarily better

But definitely different

Strange because journals from more recent times

Notes taken down during therapy

They've all been thrown away

Funny, isn't it, how much distance there is between us

And yet how tied this memory of you is to me

Seven years (Coronach)

Word of the day: Coronach

In four days time it'll be seven long years since you passed

Waking me up at a quarter to midnight on the last Sunday of the month

To tell me you couldn't breathe and it didn't take long for you to take your final breath

And then that was it, you were dead

This is selfish, I know, but what I hated the most about your death

Besides your sudden absence from my life after having you by my side

Since the day I was born

Was the way everyone expected me to be strong

I'd just lost you and it felt like my world was collapsing around me

And people told me that I would get through it because

I'd had that final day with you, unlike grandkids who, by choice,

Had moved to countries that were oceans away from you

And I looked at that wooden casket you were in, closed, so I never had to see

What you looked like when you were no longer alive

And later, you were smoke and ashes, dust

Surrounded by people, I watched you go, never having felt so alone in my life

And now, seven long years later, I still want you here

Talk to the photograph we have of you in the living room

I tell you things and sometimes, let myself cry

Whisper that I wish I could join you in the afterlife

Red, white and rose

Word of the day: Oenology

Reds fill my stomach too quickly

Sitting there, heavy

Staining glass and lips

Weighing my heart down

I focus on my breath

Inhale and exhale

Force myself to remain in the present

Whites are the perfect buzz

Clean going down my throat

Everything looks so surreal

Like I'm surrounded by

Fairy lights and fireflies

In those moments the world

Is just so fucking beautiful

A rare treat, a rose is

Bubbles bursting against my tongue

A little dance of joy

Merriment, good things

Being transported to a different life

For a short while

Sitting on a beach

Sharing a bottle with

Someone I love

freak

skin on skin

naked

no longer reminding me of

raw fish

repulsive

an improvement

perhaps

my brain has surrendered

to the endless questions from

friends and first dates

never been in a relationship

body count, zero?

how and why?

i let you touch me

and pretend it feels good because

the panic that used to set in with

intimacy

has now been replaced by

indifference

but you don't need to know that

just give me what i need

so people will stop looking at me

like i'm a freak

keloid

never the smartest

when it came to the sciences

i only recently learnt about keloids

"so basically your brain keeps signaling that

scar tissue needs to be made long after

the wound has healed"

the layers that keep forming around my heart

ever since you threw it on the ground

stomped on it like it was a rubber toy

layers of tissue, skin, whatever it is

protecting me from the hurt that can so

easily be caused

what are they called?

single pringle

it hit me, when i least expected it,

that it was the oldest -my grandmother-

and the youngest -myself-

who were without partners

she lost her husband years ago

and perhaps thought of him often with a fondness

that didn't surface until after he had passed

everyone else - dating, about to be married

just married, married for a while -

and beyond our little group

most seemed to have found someone

the woman carrying a baby, waiting for her husband

to return from a shop with a toy

the young man reaching for the young girl's hand

blushing slightly

the elderly couple, seated on a bench

resting before the day's activities resume

the man telling his wife to hurry

before the train leaves

everyone had met someone they had

fallen in love with, found a sense of

compatibility with, had a child with

everyone had met someone they had shaped their lives around

accommodating new needs and displays of affection

and there i was

alone

and it hit me that i had never had this

despite being at the very end of

marriageable age

i had never had someone to love and care for

worry about, say a silent prayer for

even though i didn't even believe in the power of it

i had never known what someone's favourite dish was and

learned to perfect it

or instantly know what to get them for a birthday

to seek their warmth when i wake up in the middle of the night

the life i had trudged through

had given me joy and happiness

good memories

and bad

regrets and tears and grief

so many different types of love

but it had never given me this one thing

everyone else seemed to get

sometimes multiple times

in a lifetime

So unfair

You get to fix yourself

And I don't

But then again,

You never thought I needed fixing

Because the heaviness in my voice

Escaped your ears

The tears I fought back

Went unnoticed

When I could barely get a word out

You filled the silence with nonsense

"You're okay"

"You're okay"

"You're okay"

You kept saying

Even when I screamed

"I'm not"

"I'm not"

"I'm not"

Dirty thoughts

the first time you reached across the table

to hold my hand, i noticed your fingers

and wondered how good they would feel in me

while we sipped coffee and laughed about life

these were the thoughts that ran through

my mind

but when we eventually progressed from coffee shop

to room with a bed, closed doors

you clumsily fumbled your way around my body

while i had to grab on to the faintest sensations

to feel some satisfaction

if this is what it was going to be like, i thought

i'd rather it just be me, myself and i

Nothing to offer

I used to think I was no good for you

I had nothing to offer, not really

A body I hated seeing in the mirror

A belly too big, thighs too fat, a face too ordinary

Anxiety that made it impossible to leave the house sometimes

Or breathe with ease

Depression that left me exhausted

I needed to go for therapy

But instead I remained a burden on my friends

When I drank too much and couldn't stop my thoughts

From spiraling out of control and throwing me

Against one wall and another

I feared commitment, demanded affection

Wanted more than I could ever give

And so I thought I was no good for you

You were too good for me

But now, I take it all back

You only seemed too good for me

In pictures where filters hid your flaws

Carefully worded sentences that made you sound smart

Stories you spun so that you were the hero

Made yourself a cape out of made up trauma

But behind closed doors

Naked to me, you had nothing to offer

You were just another guy

So fucking ordinary

Couldn't pick you in a police lineup

Wouldn't notice you in a crowd

sprats

someday we will meet and you will tell me about your life

and i will tell you about mine

and you will ask me why i never settled down

with someone

and i will tell you about my fear of commitment

bad luck with men

we will laugh about it

you will tell me there are plenty of fish in the sea

i just needed to keep looking

i will make some joke about

looking for salmon

but only getting sprats

but i will never tell you that

i could swim to the deepest seas

or climb the highest mountains

but never find the man i'm looking for

because there he is,

sitting across from me

telling me about his life

asking me why i never settled down

Anger

And it is anger you feel

In the end

Anger at yourself for the

Time wasted

Lies believed

The way you accommodated their bullshit

Smiled through hurtful words

Because surely it wasn't intentional?

You scold yourself for being so stupid

For not seeing them for who they really are

Pretending this was something you are

Okay with

After everything has been said and done

After everything has been said and done

And your hurt turns into anger

And then tears and then a broken plate

On the floor from when you threw it

At the wall, screaming his name

After everything has been said and done

And the cut on your wrist heals

And the scar fades and you don't even remember

Why he left or that it

Even happened

After everything has been said and done

And he marries someone else

And they have three kids

Two boys and a girl

Like he always wanted, like you never did

After everything has been said and done

And his name and face never cross your mind

As memory is replaced by others

Who leave their own scars and broken plates

And let hurt turn into anger and then tears

After everything has been said and done

A dull ache in your heart remains

It sometimes travels to your throat and strangles words

Or moves down to your legs, making you trip and stumble

As you find your way in this world

Moving in and out of other people's lives

But never his

Premonition

I knew it was over between us

When you pulled away from that kiss

Way before it had to end 

You win, I don't care

This is not a game

But I think I'll let you have this

When you told me you were leaving

I had already packed my bags

Empty now, that shared space

No guilt or hurt

Regret or hope

I picture a stranger

Walking through that space

Finding signs of life

An unwashed mug in the sink

Leftovers in the fridge

The bed isn't made

The bathroom light is on

But my stuff is gone

So is yours

The stranger will always wonder

If we left together

But if not,

Who left first

Confession

Talking about you

So openly

Saying you are

The one person I still want to talk to

Felt almost like a confession

I'd like to know how you are

Whether you are happy

And if you ever wish you did things

A little differently back then

What would we talk about

If it was you I was having drinks with

And not her

Would we choke on silence

Or order another round?