This
is a story of destruction.
I remember feeling like I was
floating eternally
when you said goodbye.
Sailing in a state of
oblivion
I let myself forget.
Forget you
Forget your fingers in my hair
Forget long nails on your buzz cut.
This
is a story of resurrection.
My internal garden
finally flowered
once you were gone.
The sun returned.
But I watered
mindfully
knowing some day
you might come home
and my roots would suffocate
again.
This
is a story of alienation.
I prayed to the gods
of pen, paper, postage
to hear from you soon.
My garden died
long before you returned.
Its flowers gently waited
Blooms of violet and white
gasping for air
as they waited
waited in fear
far too long
trembling in cold currents
of the unknown.
I wasn’t meant to breathe
with or without you.
This
is a story of heartache.
I wrote about your return
every day
but never got the ending right.
Manicured fingers returned
to prickly hairs
on the back of your neck.
Your uniform
just as crisp
but your eyes
much duller.
featured in Sorin Oak Review
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