the last of a love song
Sitting here watching the clock tick, crickets singing through the warm summer night. Reading poetry, thinking of you. I found a polariod I took of you today, wedged between two pages in a poetry book. Bitting my lips, tasting the lip balm, I lower my head, and drop the photo. It floats beautifuly to the floor. It will have been one year since you ended our twenty two month relationship on August 11. This gives me closure, I suppose, in a way you could have never given me.
Looking out my window, I travel through all the memories, up the steps to your room. My memories sit on the bed next to you, watching your breath rise and fall as you sleep. Like kissing the lipless, I kiss your forhead through my memories. I wish you luck with your new found love, linger for one last look, at your face, and shut the door on a beautiful chapter in my life. I will probably always love you, but I've learned to move on.
My hands are stained in patterns from the dye diluted water that washes out of my hair. Almost henna. Raising the scissors to my face, I cut my bangs. Dark hair falls into the sink with the rest of the dye. The lights buzz, the crickets sing. Life moves on so fast. Grasping the cold edges of the sink, turning on the water, washing away the old. Dark hair for the road yet untraveled. Smiling with teeth, now brave enough to show everyone my crooked grin. My metamorphosis complete. Walking barefooted, back into the bowels of the house. The picture lies on the floor, lonley as I was once.