Middle of the sentence

and leaving him is like ripping off a band aid
every. single. time.
because our moments are uncertain and fleeting
explanations are are not necessary in the moment
and afterwards i will have buried myself
six feet under the ability to ask and care and inquire
and desire something more for myself

all we have is fleeting

the movie flashes behind my eyelids and he is fast asleep
my hand is numb in his and i dare not move because
the image will be shattered and neither of us
would put it back together
i am a polaroid picture
faded and useless
archaic and some sort of momento of past smiles
past moments past memories
that we decided would make
perfect pictures

he is glass and heat and the sunset
and i dare not ask any questions
just let him inhale the smell of my shampoo and exhale
that he is so
so happy
that i am here
and later

later everything will be more permanent
it will be empty
resoundingly meaningless

later i will walk home in high heels
that cut my feet
i will wrap my hands tighter around my body
i will think of the moment i woke up


and shattered the moment to pursue my own bed
my own warmth and my own blankets
and the sun hit his face perfectly
but i didnt wake him
i ripped off the bandaid

nothing is permanent

and i walked the street alone
thinking of the thousand places i could be
how happy i have to be that i am

everything we have is fleeting


One thought on “Middle of the sentence

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