I am just happy to not be thinking of you, ( although in a way, I suppose i still am)
Not to be wondering, why, so much, all the time,
Not to have a head so full of question marks that my cranium was bursting at the seams.
I’m glad someone else broke my heart, it proves to me you’re not the only one who can do it, you haven’t patented the art of breaking hearts, and that makes me happy, because it means you’re not special.
Anyway, I was so shocked to find out that you’re okay, that no tragedy had struck you, that you did not speak to me again out of your own volition, that last goodbye wave was the last, the last, the last.
You did not perish in any tragic car accident, I wanted to call, but I was so afraid you would pick up, casually, in that voice of yours, singing flowers into my ears, kisses onto my skin, so I told myself, maybe he is lying in a hospital bed with two broken legs and I am here worrying over nothing.
You are alive and well, but you just do not want to reach out to me, to reach into me and take, what I have offered does not make saliva pool into the roof of your mouth, much like the smell of the glue stick I use at work which reminds me of you, now I find myself having so much use for it.
I am happy now, at least i am marginally less ailed by you, still ailed, but a bit less, I will drag myself away by bits until I am as far away from this state of needing of you as I can, even if it means that there will be nothing left of me.
I have cried, I have mourned, I have yearned and pined and sent messages across seas in bottles, it is enough.
I have learned that the soul’s blood is colorless, and it seeps through the eyes. I will not ask myself where you are, what you are doing, who you see through those eyes, what thoughts lurk when those hoods swiftly come down, what do you want, what do you seek?
sometimes, when you sleep, do you feel my hands around you, caresses of the wind, do you ever feel a chill and unfold your body, make your way to the window and shut it?
Do I ever, even so fleetingly, become a complete thought in your head in the time it takes a person to have thought of something, anything and just start to long for it?
I shall not ask, I shall not ponder, I shall collect heartbreaks like perfume bottles, each one more empty than the next, and one day, I shall hang them all out to dry and try and count back to the day when all my new ghosts buried you.