remember when it was september and i could have anyone i wanted?
remember when it was september and i could have anyone
i wanted? the poem you wrote about me and the ridiculous
length of your eyelashes both convinced me that no, you
were not just around to play games. i recall the sharp cliffs
of october and how we suddenly fell from summer into fall
and how that left me tapping my little fist against the firepit
of your door, but you would only open yourself up enough
to say “not yet.” and when you finally came to me, willing to
be earnest with your heart, i was still powerful, too lovely to
settle down, still playing around, so i shook my head at the
question you asked. not yet. but i can still smell the smoke
of a cracked sidewalk. i can still remember the first time you
touched me and the first time i didn’t push you away for doing
so. you left me cracked on more than one occasion, and
i know that i was often cruel for despite my act, despite my
high cheekbones and brave face, i was not used to the
games that you had been playing so well. remember when
i saw that blue slice of your face across the dubstep dance
floor in october? i’ve never been betrayed quite like you did
me on the second of december, but i blame myself for storing
faith like precious oil in the jars of the words that you spoke
to me while the november snow kissed the cold spine of the
earth. i smashed nothing that night that you left me hopeless,
not my faith nor the jars of your words i had stored it in—instead,
i gave the urns back to you, emptied and cleaned. my faith i kept
for myself. remember when it was september and i could have
anyone i wanted? i don’t remember exactly when i chose you,
but whenever i did, it was a mistake.
