Long Road To Ruin
Because he hit me, or because I stuck around for him to do it again?
Because he fucked me, or because I liked it?
Because I let things go too far, or because I didn't even regret it?
Because he wasn't the first, or the last?
When does it become official? When am I damaged goods?
Dear Ex-Lover:
I still remember some things. I remember the golden hair on your arms, the way you held a fork, your ineptitude with hair product, your crappy taste in music, your cocky driving, your favourite spot at the zoo, the hoodie I bought for you but always stole for myself.
I remember some things very well, but it's the things that I don't remember that matter the most.
I forget what it was like to kiss you, really kiss you.
I forget what you sound like. I can't remember your voice.
I forget how listening to our song used to make me feel, how it was to dance in your arms.
I forget why I thought you were the one;
why we'd always be together;
why I loved
so.
damned.
hard.
I'd meant to stay in love with you, together or apart. I had such good intentions. But life gets in the way. I've lived. I've lived so much without you that it takes my breath away. I kept going; life kept going. It swept me away. I've been swept away, and not by you. Not this time. Not anymore.
I'm forgetting you little by little.
It's sad in a way. Terrifying. Healing. Soothing. Empowering.
I'm saying goodbye.
I'm gone.
...
I guess you don't get to break my heart after all.
4am Love Song
I will never say these words to your face:
I felt something.
I felt something beyond your tongue on my throat, your hands on my hips, your hardness pushing up inside me.
I felt something else.
I felt like maybe I knew you.
Like maybe the first time didn't necessarily have to be the last.
I stood outside on the concrete step, wrapped in only a sheet, watching you drive away. I didn't wave, I didn't want to. I just leaned my naked shoulder against the post and watched the stars instead of your brake lights. Unseasonably cold for April, I saw my breath in the air and felt the chill of a gentle wind prickle my skin where not long before it held the heat of your stroke.
I could have asked you to stay. You would have stayed, I think, if I'd asked.
I didn't.
I don't do that. Not in a long time. But tonight my bed feels empty. I can still smell your aftershave on the pillow, lingering like our goodnight kiss.
Goodnight or goodbye? I said neither. I merely licked your bottom lip, kissed the corner of your mouth, squeezed your hand and moaned when you brushed my breast with your fingertips.
That said enough.
It said:
come back
be in my life
do that again
don't let go...
don't let go.
