• cocodensmore

I hate Valentine's Day more than any other day of the year.

This Valentine's,

it will be four years

since I last spoke

with you.


OK.


Well.


So.


I love you.


Maybe?


Less.

For sure, less.


It doesn't hurt so much.

It just is kind of sore

when I think about you,

now.


It isn't like a stabbing thing,

with the gush of tears

and the deathly anguish.


It's just really sore,

like a bruise,

that won't heal,

that clings on,

a tenderness

that won't leave my body,

my mind.


Sometimes,

it makes me smile,

that pain when I think of you.

It's all I have left of you.


Sometimes it makes me angry with me,

for hanging onto pain I have no reason to keep.


Maybe it's not a tenderness,

maybe it's the pain of emptiness

that comes with being

perpetually perplexed.


Why?


When will I stop asking why?


Why?





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