A Letter

A letter:

Dear You, no longer us

I've been dreading writing this.
Painted the words over the contours of my mind.
Eloped with silence.
Blind sided contact with my cold shoulder.

Blew hot air from my ears
Refusing to listen to my conscience,
I split desire into two and left her
Struggling to breathe.

I barricaded remorse and misery.
Turned a blind eye
To shaky breaths and salty cheeks.
Suffer their children

I thought pride would would mother my wounded ego.
She put a band-aid over my third-degree burns.
Scolded my eyes for leaving the tap open.
Trapped memory in a bottle and screwed it shut.

Screwed me over,
Message pending.

But you see.
The tap ran dry
And I drank from the bottle.
Now I've come undone

This isn't a poem.
It's just that language gets fragmented.
When you speak between gasps and heaves.
Message pending.

Sense becomes a concept when you move
Between then and now,
In the space of maybe finding tomorrow in today.

So between now and then.
If you ever find that you miss me,
Navigate your way
Around these words.

You'll find me
between the lines.
The spaces read,
I'm sorry