August 25, 2011

I'll see you.

We broke on a Sunday.
I'd said  "I'll see you..."
turned and vanished,
left you hanging.
You'd caused me to be anxious
tapping my foot to the clock
waiting for an escape-
I only needed a reason.

We'd vacationed the previous summer.
Ocean Isle, sea, you 
and my rumbling thoughts.
We put a bottle in the water
and watched it float away, blue.
Like us, one day destroyed.
Glass to sand, not much understood
except to just let go.

At night I shut my eyes but 
I'll see you there in the clinched lids
kaleidoscope colors from pressure.
It's not what we were,
it's distorted, fantastical.
And I let the tears
cover my lashes, fall onto my nose
until I'm swept into a dream.

It's all a blur right now but I know I'll see.
You have become a figment of my 
imagination and I'll have become
washed out colors on glossy photos
stuffed under a bed at your mother's house.
Compare me to a crayon drawing,
refrigerator framed,
hung up on you
for just a few months.

I know, I know, and you know know too
that I'll see you sometime.
But sometime isn't enough time
and too much time at the same time.
It's another way to say it's over
because "in time" is not "our time"
and that's the only way
I see you.

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