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.