hastily scribbled words on a sheet, 

that crumples up in your hands despite your own volition; 

choked up i miss yous that 

never 

make it past the thin lining of your heart; 

withheld tears that choke you up 

and leave you on your knees;

sometimes, 

i love yous that never make it past your tongue; 

eyes that meet with a gaze you can’t recognise

(not anymore) 

a quick glance, 

a look 

away

that lasts a – 

second and then – 

over. 

what you mean to me – 

endless countless listless 

the scene of our life together cuts out; 

to be replaced, 

erased, 

by something else – an attempt to replace a rarity, 

a reality. 

(but that’s not the best analogy, is it? 

you can’t even think of apt analogies anymore) 

this is what you mean to me – 

badly written poetry 

when you once used to be my muse 

Image courtesy of Jeremy Bishop