Musings #4

by Hannah Messinger (October 2014)

I fell for a feeling you never had,

That type of “how do you do” that kind of

Went straight through my soul and onto my pillow,

And then I saw myself in the reflection of your windshield

For the first time since the sunrise

And I realized,

I wasn’t the same.

But it’s all black and white and fringed at the edges:

It breaks away at that vital moment like a thread pulling away from silk:

Not unraveling, but ruining.

And I feel it in my gut this

“It never would have been anything” sort of gut feeling and,

You see November was the reason that the familiar colors changed

And I don’t think you understand,

And you sit with your hands in fists closed off to what you could hold

Closed around a throat around me but,

I witnessed the delicate petals of a lily open wide

On a February morning

And I think the fact I can smile at six am

Speaks like a whisper on a tired tongue saying something between

“I love you” and

“Please stay” and

It doesn’t really matter what we mean because either way

He and I are lying next to each other-

Slurring things at three am, four am

If only written in cursive on that part of me

That I allow to dream.

________________________

Hannah Messinger is a writer living in Florida. Her website is The Interlude.

 

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