Pot Luck

I sleep,
but I don't dream anymore,
at least not that I can remember. 

And even when I do, it's so worn,
The zipper undoing what separates fact from fiction,
In a world I just don't belong to anymore.

Simply so many us's to choose from in my memories.
Who will you be today?
Him. You. My everything. Her everything. The one who died.
The one who saved us all...?

I was only spending my time learning what I could love.
I was only trying on capes,
That had promised to make us into super heroes.

We were more pencil than we were ink.
And I was more drunk than sober,
The first time we fell in love.

But the fairy tale is still real.
Albeit, the ending did not go happily ever after,
for me.

And I am suddenly sleeping, or dreaming, or haunted.
And I remember when..

I just let him hold me.
Fell effortlessly into the shape of his arms.
Cradled in the strength of his presence.
I just let him love me.
..Knowing it was temporary.
Seized the day, as it were.

I just let him love me.
Because I had never been closer.
To such a thing.

In the luxury of my stupor I asked him how it felt.
...To be inside someone.
I meant both physically, and mentally.

I was absent when it fell apart,
but I was present for the surrender.
If it's still fair to calculate it in those terms...
If it's still amenable to say what a pleasure it was to lose him.

And no mistake, it was a pleasure to lose him.
Implication there is that at some point,
even just one point,
I had him to lose.

And I had him...

Over and over again.

Drenched, soaked, sore, exhausted- until I was no longer starving.

And then he was gone.
Would he be as good at going as he was coming?

We were only together when we were apart.
Only ourselves when we couldn't see each other

In my timeline there are no minutes.
Just people.
You see...
There's not time enough to live and to write about it.
We have to choose.

I want to learn what it is to truly live,
not just write about 
But if I haven't by now...
It's not that I haven't tried. Just wasn't very good at it.

Tiny comas filling the spaces between choice and surrender.

Now..

The looking up is easy.
Imagining how high....
It's the looking down that seems to serve no purpose,
other than to remind us how high we were.

Maybe that's life being sagacious.
Or maybe it's just random.
Like everything is.

There's nothing left to love now
except how hard it is to make him leave.