here i am

sitting across the table from

you,

unraveling

like that old grey sweater

you always wore,

trying not to look into

those brown eyes

once warm and familiar,

those eyes that used to smile

for me.

love will stain your fingers and mouth

like a pomegranate.

it will swallow you whole and spit you out

red juice trickling from her lip,

wine dark and wanting.

yet

you will reach for it

again and again,

greedy human fingers grasping

never to be satisfied -

no,

you will feel it curl its way into your veins and take you over,

and your soul will be stained with

a passion that is never gone.

if august can quietly slip

into september,

and the birds can fly south

where it's warmer,

if they can move on after summer,

then so can i.

would you remember me

if i told you that

after all this time,

after all these lonely days,

after all these conversations that never last,

i still feel

a thread

tied

from your heart to mine

and the further apart we grow

this i realize,

while my days hours sigh.

your words were always

such wispy phantom things

just like your phantom arm

around my weary shoulders,

and your ghost-like hands

holding my empty heart.

it was never real,

and neither were we.