make me a witness.

I guess I understand now:
that horrible empty space and the way it swells between two people on opposite sides of a dark stage.
the glares, directed downward, away,
the way they played at it, wrote it, sang it.

I guess in my life I only ever loved one thing, and it was cold.
unforgiving.
fathomless and beautiful and ephemeral and strange.
the firmer my grasp on it the more vague the rest becomes,
shapeless, staticky, out of tune.

my own shape is morphing too, giving in to the softness I always felt enveloping me, changing me from time to time, making it harder to relate, to belong.

how can you vow when you’re never the same person from one day to the next?
how can you promise when you always have one foot across the line, chasing ghosts, loving them more.

you lie, that’s how.
you lie and you hope it sticks, that one day it will come true.
you lie, because that’s how we all love, in the end.

we’re never the puzzle pieces we promise to be in black and white, flashbulbs flaring and confetti flying,
we say our lines while those darker parts of us shake their heads, their hearts.
they’ve been here before, they know how it ends,
don’t they?

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About tehlorkay

writer of poems and longer things. restless wanderer of small-town streets. unabashed seeker of the true world.
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