There’s a half-formed drawing
of someone I used to feel something for
(or still feel something for,
why commit to a binary yes/no
when it can be complicated)
surrounded by a blank expanse,

I should have practiced drowning.

My love, it was as though I froze
from the outside in, and inside still
tumbling, still mumbling,
yes, something out of a book.

on the last of the seventeen and a half days
we had of spring (you went to france, I think,
or switzerland), on that last afternoon,
you missed your flight and took it as a sign.

Broken picture frames
Still on display, 
They say I love you 
In fragmented ways
Quietly, loudly, tenderly, 

Sometimes 
I’m too much in my head. 

The wind is gently guiding me, 

Keeping me company, 

As they fall 
they turn to dust
Turn to water 
As they fall 
On asphalt 

She sleeps,

sleeps

until she can’t.

She’s afraid to wake up.

Let me mourn in peace, oh world,