My Sweet Picture
You are a picture.
A picture of our past:
our weekend excursions,
our silly phonecalls,
our strong affection for the other.
But you are also a picture of the future:
my first day at college,
birthday gatherings,
my wedding day,
And as each scenario passes through my close eyelids,
I don't see your adoring gaze
or shit-eating grin
or hear the soft lilt in your voice when you say my name.
You are not there in my future
and I'm scared.
You were once an image full of promise.
The epitome of safety and laughter and love.
Every turn I made,
you were right behind me,
your warming presence guiding me through my life.
Now,
I turn and turn,
but you are nowhere to be found.
Your image has cracked.
The strain of the truth and the guilt
proving to be too much.
You try to convince me you are still whole,
still sane,
still wanting,
but I can see your jagged pieces
and the shriveled black thing you like to call a heart
and I realize:
You have never been a picture.
You are a mirage.
I blink
and he's gone.