at the comedy show

seeking counsel from your predecessor on the phone. 'your love is what makes you so beautiful. someone worthy of it will hold that tightly and never let go.' I wonder how much of this he means, having been on the receiving end / in your position not so long ago. speaking for myself I struggle to believe even the sentiment. breathing and crying I know that I would never ask so much. in an unsuspecting winter we both seemed happy for a moment. you wanted what I wanted. devoid of expectation we were free to glow together and we did.

I took your photo as we cycled through the golden hour. you led the way in a purple jumper. a short cut down a lane. a flower just for me. we cooked Mexican and talked about the boys we left behind. in your room we made music. you said the wrinkles round my eyes could break your heart. I'd have frozen in that moment / your eyes if I could.

back row at the comedy show playing the friend someone needs. mistaking the back of a stranger for you. a hollow in my heart. seven days is a week / a lifetime / nothing at all. what is time to a heart without resolve? I wonder how you're feeling / what you're doing / if you'd know I want to know. I miss you and I hope you're keeping well.

on the tram to work

business casual on the tram to work. headphones on. staring vacant out the window greeting traffic with a smile. another Monday keeping face. in my armour I can pass as anything I need to be for long enough.

I relish silence between strangers, their unfamiliar faces welcome comfort from the torment of the things I've known / loved / lost. we keep a friendly distance segregated by our ghosts and the separate scores we dictate on our phones. listening to love songs we once played each other on guitar. they don't know this or you or me. to them I am another in a packt can of sardines. to me they are the same. I know as much of their fears and dreams as they do mine. of ghosts they only know their own. we were until we weren't and they are none the wiser.

your name is still an anchor in the hollow of my heart. on the tram to work at least I have another day to start.

nice things

sun for the first time since you left. making friends of strangers using strings of lyrics out of sense. laughing in a borrowed language. being held by friends who want to understand. we cook together and watch scary movies. the cat on my lap. taking the tram in the dark. your favourite song in the shower. I wash my face and boil the kettle. melting chocolate. remembering the weight of your body on mine. when we would glow and open for each other. your breath and my name when you claimed it. the thought of dying in your eyes. still reaching in my sleep. an openness that closes. a freedom to care without limit. the sting of moisturised tears. 

tremors

nowhere near a fault line we still ripple at the mercy of the lithosphere. the witching hours are still until the city shakes. some wake to the crack of thunder from the ground. some hear the rattle of crockery and glass in kitchen cupboards. others sleep on undisturbed, vacant bodies lying blissfully oblivious, lost for now to dreams in worlds that only they can reach.

the earthquake breaks a magnitude of 4.8. still awake I don't hear the thunder / feel the tremors. what is strong enough to shake a freshly fractured heart? I think about how nothing major comes announced / with warning. the car crashed between one home and a picnic. recovery starts with a phone call and unwanted change of plans. you first appeared in blue light at my fingertips. we kissed first on the wrong end of the bed. we vanish with a conversation you have written. the sky falls on a Tuesday afternoon with dinner plans.

when I wake I see the earthquake on the news, making ripples in the headlines. aftershocks are echoed still in conversations. I wonder if you felt it in the way that I still do.

charged with fire

the sky cries through another day. I watch the people pass under their umbrellas from the window on the second floor. in the library I am clean and clear like them, quiet and calm, focused completely on something that matters. I press the keys and make new shapes in pixels on the screen. there is brief relief in passing still as someone who can be neat and give to something more than empty hollows in his heart. on the outside we can all be people. from a distance I can still be what a library wants: silent, soft, sensible.

you haven't left my mind. no surprises. a few days does little more than cover dents. I think about the rooms you fill: talking to the fish at work, waiting on the train, cooking in your kitchen, sleeping on your pillow. I think about the times we shared these spaces, little glimpses of a life I would have loved to know. the first time we met we made each other laugh and dinner. between instruction and quick wit I was flailing for your favour, at your whim. I was sous chef. you were lightning and I could only do my best to jump and hope. when you struck I knew that there was nothing more to wish for.

in the morning I remember you are gone. even in the rain your name is charged with fire I can't snuff. I mourn the thought of knowing you, wishing tears could be enough.

lost media

we sang into each other's mouths

and laughed

until you'd had enough

a star falls

and the party ends on your terms

with a left turn

claws

or fractures

we are buried down the hall

between this choice and the way we were

because you want what you want

and I am what I am

and what was once the same will change

like water

scars

clouds running over stars

the way we feel

do you remember when you said my eyes could make you cry?

how much did you forget?

when we would glow our names were sacred

your eyes would open in the dark

and I could see your heart

helpless and beautiful, as terrified as mine

do you remember?

does it matter if you don't

that it was too real

that you're gone?

tonight I water dead trees and the hollow with my tears

you are nowhere I have been

having known me for a moment

in the nettles

where old scars wouldn’t matter

and we could lie and burn together

missing you before you left and all the gold was gone

thanking you for something

with your helmet on

leaving to become another lost weekend to mourn

without you only memory

vacant dreaming

photos, poetry, and song

lifeless evidence of what you wanted

a bed where we belonged

lost media forever

if forever wasn't wrong.

thank you

plans change without warning: you can’t stay for dinner or be here anymore. once more I feel pathetic having already bought ingredients. I am sitting on my bed and you are stretching on my floor. you did this the last time you were here. we'd woken up together for the last time. you were wearing my pyjamas and reached for my guitar to sing a song. my love is mine, all mine. the night before you'd called me yours. we were glowing and I told you that I loved this, that I loved being yours. I saw your heart in your eyes. you could have pulled mine from my chest and seen that they were beating for each other. you told me you had missed me. it had only been five days.

when you start to break this I ask if you could sit with me on the bed. I remember you saying how safe you felt here. afternoon sun is pouring through the windows over carpet over you. you let me catch your eyes and I wish you weren't so beautiful. 'I think we should stop...' of course. I ask when you knew that this was what you wanted. not long, maybe a couple of days. you say that it's not about me, or about us. you want to focus on other things. this has been lovely. we've had fun. but it's not what you need. a little too real or a little too much? you say the former though your choice implies the latter.

you ask me how I'm feeling. without knowing what to say we sit in silence and I do my best to smile. there's an offer to leave. I ask you to stay a little longer, knowing your departure means the end of our little misadventure. on my pillow I make you listen to the list of things I like about you and the way we were: your laugh, your scent, the way you made my people laugh, your singing voice, the dinners and the dancing and the other stuff I could almost swear felt sacred. remember when you asked me to never close to you. when we wrote each other poetry. when you danced for me. I love the way you would tell me your dreams and ask about mine. I love the characters we'd play together and apart. the secrets you shared and how you'd hold me when I'd let you see what I thought was ugly. the way you’d make me feel like I was something more than bones and dreams. your touch in the dark. the sound of my name on your tongue. you join in and tell me what you like and what you'll miss but I don’t want to hear it. how can this mean anything when you make the choice to close the door?

there are brief formalities: I return your locket in exchange for my tupperware. a transaction to wash away the people we've been. the little crocodile still hangs from your work bag, bought for you before we'd even met. you offer to give back the book but I plead you to keep it. and there is no way to switch off the care I feel for you. when you leave I will cry because we mattered, and you still do, and there is nothing you or I can do to change this. how many pools will I fill with these feelings when you're gone?

I tell you that I’ll miss you. you say you’ll miss me too. the last I see of you is in your helmet. the first time you saw me I was wearing mine. patterns in repeat. we hug until you let go and I thank you for your time.