history never repeats

I am a really good friend.
if I have nothing else in the world going for me, at least I have that.
and no matter how many times it might happen I am always surprised when someone that I believe in disappoints me by not being a good friend.



my toes and legs have been slowly creeping
diagonally across the bed on to her side
i am slowly creeping back to my self in the singular

it's been awhile since i cried .
but tuesday night i cried myself to sleep.
while spooning her pillow.
i dreamt of love letters written in gorgeous linear lettering
i was able to make out only one word


i rubbed the letters against the paint in the hallway
thus putting the writing on the wall myself
trying to subconciously gain some control
over a situation over which i have none.

wednesday she called to tell me that she missed my spoon
i told her i had been spooning her pillow
i hadn't told her that i cried
i didn't say that i was starting to usurp her spot.

i didn't tell her that i thought we might be getting closer to even


puzzle pieces

I don't even know where I would be able to find anything to give to anyone else.
I slowly handed everything over to you.
all of my secrets,
all of my quiet quirks,
all of the things that I was never able to give as much of as i did to you.
including my guts.
I never dreamed that you would no longer be able to care for them.
and there they are sitting on a table for everyone to see.
and I don't know how to put them back in the right way.


tactile memory

and while I hugged her with everything I have
I put my hand on the back of her head
so I wouldn't forget what it feels like...


i finally packed up the rest of her things.
The things that I found comfort in having around.
The things that made me feel like it was going to be ok.
The things helped me think she was coming back.

She isn't coming back.
It makes no sense to leave her things where she left them.