Sunday, September 14, 2014

There's The Door.

I don’t remember the last time. 

Sure, I remember cuddling on the couch. I remember when you pressed me against the wall and I felt your breath on my neck. When we danced circles in my basement like we were at a ball. When I literally saved your life. When you looked into my eyes and I looked into yours and you said “Let’s do this.”

You and I met at a dance. The air was warm and you were assertive and the place smelled like sweat.

And yet for some reason, I can’t quite pick out when I stopped knowing you.

Was it when you denied me of my personality? When you said goodbye without looking back? When you told me I’d have to schedule my lunches with you?

Well, I have a truth for you:

I don’t care when we ended.

You’re exused, but at least use your manners when you leave.

My heart is a sandbag full of stars
My eyes are broken windows
My voice is as unreliable as your text messages
My writing is afraid of the dark

Your heart is a parking complex full of concrete 
Your eyes are boarded up for a storm that will never come
Your voice is of the “The line you are calling is no longer in service,” genre
Your writing is an instructon manual for writing grocery lists

To me, you’re used up. An empty can, made of thin metal with numbers on one side. And I doubt you even read this thing anymore. You never really did anyway.

There's the door. 

Now get out of my life and stop waving at me in the hallways.


  1. mmm this hit me, hard. Thank you solstice for writing this so it could punch me in the gut

  2. I like this one


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