your shirt
The days go by since the last time I made you smile, felt your heartbeat with mine, and at first I felt relieved. Now its just the silent beckoning of twisted guts and things I've tried to forget the names of. This forlorn and pensive silence that creeps slowly into its own home in my chest, climbing upwards for air that doesn't get through the thick lump in my throat. I feel the numbered days go by where you might have cursed the labor I do, but thank god for it or I might be broken now. I feel things inside me coming forth. The want to tell you I love you. The want to hold you. The want to kiss you. I wrap them up inside my skin and keep them hidden. Smiling. Saying, "Oh I'm fine, how are you?" And I want to call, but I won't. One time without answer is all I can stand.
Today I went into your closet and found myself standing there suddenly with your shirt in my hands, pressed to my face, trying to smell you. I could. And I put it back. Walking away, telling myself to never do that again.
Today I went into your closet and found myself standing there suddenly with your shirt in my hands, pressed to my face, trying to smell you. I could. And I put it back. Walking away, telling myself to never do that again.