1 a.m. and listening to the sound your name makes whispering itself against my ribcage like a heartbeat

Thu, 09/05/2013 - 20:01 -- Abi

Tonight I am quiet.

I sit alone in my almost clean room—old

Coke bottles stand on my shelves,

filled with pop tabs, bits of magazines,

a testament to my overwhelming need to hold on

to the most useless of things.

Outside, the moon is trying to be full.


(I tried smoking once

but the scent stayed too long on my breath.

It reminded me of you. I don’t suppose

you know what I mean, at all.)


Stars hold hands better

than I do. They keep reaching out to us

only burning bright

even when dying. Someday

I would like to be a star,

to have the strength to love something

even when it will never love me back.


It would be nice to live unperturbed

by partialness or fragmentation,

looking down and realizing

that you are an incomplete set.

Even when I was a child

I was always fond of even numbers.

I can still see myself

playing matchmaker with the magnets

on my grandmother’s fridge.


(Want to know a secret?

The truth is, I never

actually had one. I just

wanted you to ask.)


Strength and bravery

are not the same.

You can’t say the moon is weak, but it’s afraid

that it won’t be able to hear us

answer when it calls, or that

even if it does, it will only be an echo

of its own hollow voice

bouncing back from Earth.


(I used to wonder if we

were connected. Then I wondered if I

was just holding on so tightly it was impossible

to discern the difference. Thank you

for the birthday present.

I still treasure it.)


People have a strange inclination

to personify the sky. I wonder if

it is just another form of escapism, like dreaming

of ghosts you will never touch. We prefer to think it’s possible

that we are not the loneliest.

Perhaps that’s why we want so badly

to connect with other life out there.


(I’m sorry I never said

goodbye. I’m afraid

I am too much like the moon.)


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