Five months since you charmed her with a smile and foolish joke.
Three since you danced, your gaze fixed on her,
the young woman unable to meet your eyes,
trying not to submit to shaky knees.
Only two since she became a ghost to you,
her name falling lower on your messages.
A month of pretending she was only angry, no agony to be found,
but agony lay sleepless in her soul,
awaiting a call to wreak havoc over body and mind.
A single addition to your story sent her unraveling.
How come?
It is nothing more than a facet of life,
yet, it was a dagger in her side, a constant stinging pain,
swelling the longer she tried to ignore it, tried to forget the words she read,
until all she could do was think of it at every reminder of you.
You say there is no one who wants to stay,
always disappearing before anything prospers, but you disappeared, leaving her.
She who would have stayed till the blossoms bloomed
and winter’s breath crept along petals.
She who would have spent her available hours with you,
learning all she could to love you properly,
unlike the ones before.
She who would have spent hours under the sun with you,
grass beneath her fingers despite her hatred for the prickly blades of green.
She who would have given you the respite you searched for throughout the day,
letting you rest against her chest for a cat nap,
until you had to start again.
How come you get to walk away,
blissful and unaware of the damage you caused,
while she must stand over her grave,
tossing dirt onto a glistening casket,
a casket belonging to a version of herself she will never know again?
