Tuesday, March 28, 2017

Alternative Routes

You asked me to stop writing about you because you aren't coming back, so instead I'll write about things like stars and rain. I'll say all the things you got mad at me for and remind myself just how much hatred I've got bottled up inside buried beneath all of this anger and love. I'll talk about photographs ripped in half (the ones that were only ever taken in dreams). I'll ink these pages with thoughts that can only be conveyed in blood or tears and I'll pull my hair out without fear of looking bad because the only opinion I've ever cared about is gone. I'll copy down all your secrets spilled from the walls and shadows at midnight of a house I don't even live in. I'll smile as I pick up my pen and scan the room for something - anything that doesn't remind me of you. Because you asked that this would be the last time I wrote about you - even if you only ever thought it. 

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