Another year has passed and tides have turned,
I've lost another set of lovers' souls, and time
moves so much faster with each month gone.
Words unsaid will be insignificantly forgotten
as promises unkept burn with remembrance,
coffee tastes bitter no matter how you doctor it -
like orange juice and toothpaste mixing again.
Maybe this year I'll finally move on,
get up and get out of these ruts I've formed
chasing after your ghost. It'd be nice to have
a fresh start somewhere new, even with him
I am reminded of you: how you pushed me away.
Another year has gone to the grave
buried beneath memories no one thought
twice about saving, six feet under
letters started but never finished and
envelopes addressed - not sent.
I'm doing much better out here,
I learned how to walk on my own
and I'm not falling as much (at least
that's what my therapist says).
But the smell of lilacs drifts in the breeze
finding its way to me, still leads me
to asking myself
how you
might be doing.
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