I wonder if the twang of sadness felt just now, in my car, driving home through
low-slung Autumn sun, is the belated backlash to the sinking of your heart,
the pain that you felt when I
said I that did not want you.
You said, drunken, slurring, 'I never fell for you'.
Such words to speak,
so bold, and so sure of themselves. Is that what you told yourself,
looking into the depths of dark eyes, which shuttered next to yours?
Yellow curtains drawn, a bed, and a closed bedroom door.
Your friends say I was the one to open you from the inside out.
I was the precursor to her.
Taller than I, but the same chestnut, straight, strong hair,
and that familiar lone defiant glare, could easily resemble,
Summer walks, hands clutching, nervous,
fields of countryside grass.
Awkward car sharing.
You buying me Vegan milk,
before I even arrived at your doorstep.
Kitchen counter, bare feet, sundress.
Shoulder length black hair.
And you turned to me, smiling.
We, in the clutter of your warm living room, laughing.
Wide eyed, with skin tight jeans.
And one Sunday, our hearts beating in the passenger side of your black car.
You rolling me in the ground, like a child, making me eat the dry earthy grass.
Your laugh, a bellow into the air,
now a whisper to me here.
And then, your odd way of control.
Just lust to a twenty three year old girl, everything to you.
I led you on to leave you,
A girl who preferred nature over restaurants.
You muddied up my converse, filled my lungs with fresh oxygen to inhale.
You shaped my mind again, wired it differently, in your hands.
You taught me the annoyance of zippers on jeans,
a terrible hindrance.
And you said you liked all of the things that I did,
you changed your true self, just to entwine me.
You felt like I was yours for just a minute of time,
but to me, you were a stepping stone across a murky lake.
Like the one we balanced on in the middle of that place that time,
And the water trickled beneath.
I am sorry, even after all of this time has passed.