July 14, 2012

There used to be a time
When I didn’t know you.
I still ponder, once in a
Harvest moon, what’d it
Be like: a life without you.

It would be bare.
Not only would things be
Just a little less bright and
A lot more boring, but
It would be mean that
We never met, held hands,
Or became what I knew
I never wanted to lose.

Now, the only way for me
To open the box of my chest
Is to write, scribbling words
Shorthand onto napkins
And stained coasters
That I keep in a small
Compartment of myself.

Without you, I’m just me.
The ground shifts restlessly
Underneath us, since it’s
Honest to a fault like you,
And utterly bare.



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