Two

she keeps her mind

concerned with novels, and the colour

in the corner of the room…

I never want to wake her,

though she always hears the silence

far too soon…

every time I think about

the things I’ve lost,

I tear myself in two.

the way she smiled,

her eyes so wild;

all those little things

she used to do.

like a summer breeze

that cannot keep,

they’re gone before

I ever knew the truth:

she held my hand

and stood beside me;

now, I hold on to

standing memories.

sometimes come the moments

where I’m glad that

I don’t have her anymore.

for all the love and comforts

she could give weren’t worth

the games she played for sport.

she never really knew me,

and I’m doing just fine

right here on my own.

tearing myself in two.

in a way, it’s kind of funny…

I’m not sure what

she ever meant to me.

this pause for self-reflection

only brings perspective

if you choose to believe

in the ugly things

that accompany love.

They’re a big part of

the beauty we perceive.