High Water Mark

my heart’s a little achey

I dreamed I called you on the telephone to say: Be kinder to yourself but you were sick and would not answer The waste of my love goes on this way trying to save you from yourself

Do whatever the fuck makes you feel alive

We are all broken, that’s how the light gets in.

I no longer remember the curve of your spine, or the pattern of your freckles. I spent days laying in bed memorizing you, and now I can’t even remember the sound of your heart against mine.

I still wake up with things to tell you. One day, I won’t. I will learn placid acceptance. I will stop panicking when I can’t perfectly remember the pitch of your voice or the curve of your jawline. The smell of cinnamon won’t make me sad anymore. At this point it’s not about finding someone to replace you. I have spread my love all over the place. It’s about trying to sleep knowing I live in a world that has your hands in it.