The weight of an empty room
You are a debt I pay in every breath.
A phantom limb that still tries to catch my fall,
anchored in the dirt where the sun cannot reach.
I am the kite, and you are the stone
tied by a silver cord that grew into a spine.
I feel you in the cold static of the bedsheets,
a hollow space that has its own gravity,
pulling my skin toward a shape that no longer exists.
It is a biological betrayal to still be warm
while the other half of my pulse is cooling in the dark.
I walk through the days like a bruise
waiting for the hand that caused it to return.
I am a locked door with the key buried
in a coat pocket six feet underground.
To love you now is to love the wind
it has no face, but it can still tear me down.
We are a bridge that collapsed in the center;
I am standing on the edge of the jagged wood,
reaching for a shadow across the water,
learning that "forever" is just a long way
to say goodbye.
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