For I can be selfish
i will be up at 3:52 am listening to a song
that reminds me of soft winter hugs
underneath faux-fur quilts
but
I will not share those lyrics with you
before I finally go to bed at 4:35 am
because
two years later, when you leave
(and you will),
i cannot bear to have another song besmirched by broken love,
i cannot tip-toe around more playlists
because
my tear ducts have already exerted themselves
too much.
i will be in a book store looking for stories to adopt
and I will find an ageing book that smells
of this oak tree in my hometown
and
the coffee stains on the pages will remind me
of the brown in your eyes
but
I will never tell you this,
because
I am too scared the sparkle in my iris will die of the ache
that will follow when I find your letters
between my clothes long after you’ve cleared out yours.
i will be working on an Excel sheet filled with
quotations, therapy notes, projections
and
my mind will flutter to and forth our chai dates
when we had to reheat our cups atleast six times
because
we couldn’t stop talking about the music shows that we want to attend, puppies, anonymous poems, retirement plans, and bad art,
but
I will never message you saying I miss you even though
we kissed five hours ago
because
the last time someone’s existence filled my veins and arteries this way,
they left, they left with wildfire behind them
and I cannot be ashes again.
so, run, run before our hands become unfit
to hold anyone else’s;
run before the thirst in your lips is only quenched by the pink on mine,
run before our feet automatically make their way
to each other while we sleep;
run before you realize the glow around my heart
is the sun reflecting on knives;
run, because this is how I write love letters;
run,
because I am too scared to burn
so I will burn you instead.
