I met you one year ago at a party. You found me people watching in all my awkward glory and decided to strike up a conversation.
The words are a jumbled mess in my mind now but I remember feeling myself unravel in your palms. It was so easy to be myself with you.
Somewhere between the questions and the slow buzz of alcohol we had a moment , almost movie like when you looked at me with a knowing smile, as though destiny had whispered in your ear and made you orchestrate that night.
Today’s morning breeze came laced with the promise of winter. Over bitter coffee and toast , you stared at your blinking screen,I read a poem about a poet locked in a solitary cell.
They say our pieces are too jagged, broken,from years of heartbreak. They say we just don’t fit quite right.
I dream in poetry , in words that will grow from the cracks in my soul. I wonder if you see the colours like I do, I wonder if I will ever drain out the black and white that paints your world.
Maybe the trappings of my mind will drive you away, the flaws that make my story will become too much for you. Forever is such a long time and love grows tired.
Some days you come home looking like regret and cigarette breath. Those days I see my false God descend from his altar shrouded in humanity. You’re half sorry half dreaming of a life we still knew how to be soft with each other.
Maybe one day I will write you a better poem, about the moon and stars, about a love that lasts. But today the poem rests uneasy in my drafts folder and love is a dream we woke up too soon from.
Two cups of coffee and a graveyard of dreams, will anything grow here again?
Maybe one day I will find the words to say I really do love you, even when love doesn’t come as freely. Maybe one day we will fill this chill of distance with the warmth of understanding.
Maybe one I will write you a better poem. About the moon and stars. About a love that lasts.