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you’d think your mission to abandon me would set the record straight with my brain. but instead the record is now skipping over and over and it’s stuck on you. all. the. time.

you walked out of my life as abruptly as you entered it. how cruel to give me a taste of you when you planned on leaving so soon.

you’ve folded me, neatly of course, into the “not right now, but maybe one day” box you slide under your bed. the bed you don’t actually sleep in. the bed you’re able to forget about until you come home ever so often. and just because you’re sometimes on that bed, well, it doesn’t mean you think about what’s under it. nobody else can find me under the weight of this lid. of the bed above it. of the roof above that. in fact, my only hope of ever being seen again is when your hand lifts the lid and let’s the light in again. then again, perhaps a tornado will uproot me instead. or a relative will bump into me while changing the sheets and throw me in the trash, it’s not like they knew of me anyway.

you think you set me free by removing yourself from my life but instead i’m here in this dark, tattered box, alongside some trinkets and a shirt that smells of your neck, waiting for you to come back, wipe off the dust, and remember how much you loved the treasures inside here. but until then i’m just a forgotten nothing buried with a thousand other memories you’ve forced yourself to reject.

how’s your freedom treating you?

i hope you see two moons in the sky forevermore. one to remind you of our love. and one to remind you of your mistake.

either you didn’t love me, or you did but didn’t want to. i’m not sure which is worse.

Let me be your morning treat with your coffee. Disregard the fear that I am too rich to be an ordinary meal. Allow my antique decadence into your morning into your mouth. Pair me with jam. Treasure me for my layers and layers of fragility and richness.

Name me after a shape that the moon makes.

Have me in a hotel while you are on vacation. Look at me and say, "Oh, I really shouldn't," just because you want to have me so very much.

you’ll never get away from the sound of the woman that loves you. i was such a fool.

i’ll follow you down till the sound of my voice will haunt you.

it was the way you opened me up and reveled in the garden before you. that’s what you told me. i was like a garden, one you never wanted to leave. so when did you get tired of watching things grow?

it was the way you kissed me on the cheek as i was taking in the most expansive beauty of ocean in front of me. in a place you loved and a place i was falling in love. we spoke with our tongues on each other and bodies intertwined the night before. something i still crave. but it was in that innocent moment, the unexpected kiss, not even on my lips, that still spirals me into the ground itself.

it was the way you stumbled back in awe when i turned around from talking about the wonder of that twisted tree along the river. i blushed and felt silly for gasping at the way the branches took up the sky. but your look pierced me deep, in a feeling of appreciation i hadn’t known before. you saw the way i saw the tree and you were falling in love with me for it.

it was the way you relaxed back into your chair at dinner as i nearly hopped up over our corner table into the window glass itself to see the otters in the water. i didn’t care about food or the other patrons. and neither did you, when you looked at me with that smirk as you told me how magical my unguarded excitement was to witness.

it was the way you called me moon, and nothing else ever again. perhaps in hindsight it was because of the moon’s impermanence and distance. you already knew you couldn’t make a home in me.

“it’ll pass” felt survivable for fleabag. but she was abandoned for something heavenly. how could you move onto another when you had already called me your heaven?

but no. you traded me in for another.

another you can touch, and hold, and make smile the way you once wanted to with me. all in less than a moon cycle.

how much easier that would be. hard still, but not impossible like this. see, god is untouchable. an idea. a ghost.

“It’s God, Isn’t It?”

ghostgutss

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