full of broken thoughts i cannot repair

I sat in the shower, the tiles colder than the rest of me. I let the water run over me, pretending it was you. I made believe I was washed with your words, that it was your thoughts cascading down my body from my head, through my short hair you never liked much. I imagined the burning heat on my neck was the run of your hands I never liked to touch my shoulders or feet. I talked softly to myself, and convinced my mind it was you, reassuring me.

I sat there until the water became cold. It was, in fact, exactly like you. And the only thing that was only you was the small streams cutting through the fresh water, the rivulets that ran down my cheeks to drip onto my bare feet.

I’m too tired to explain. I don’t have the strength. Can we do it in the morning? I will beg.

my history's in a box, wrapped up in a pretty blue light.

Those were our days.

But these, these are our streets. The dizzying height of our memories makes my head spin, but at least the memories are still here.

These are our songs, the ones we sang to one another and the ones that made us write our stories more beautifully than before.

This is our work; you, visible in every inch of it. I didn't want you to go, but now I wish I could erase your presence that still lingers in very part of my existence.

I have to go now, or I'll be late for whatever is next.

But I am here.