your own personal weeping angel

have you ever been in a

moment that already feels like a memory?

when everything is shimmering and easy,

suspended in time,

floating and hesitating and swollen with breath

 

and then you blink,

and it’s over

a memory after all.

 

i think every moment was

like that with you –

a series of memories that

i watched happen,

somehow trapped on the outside

perpetually present but never really there

 

and god how i tried

i tried to hold on to the moments

to hold my breath and

to never blink

i clung on to you and left marks with

my fingernails,

marks that fade every time i remember them

 

but you were always an other

an i love you and a wink and a smile

and the perfection blinded me,

i think,

because now i don’t want those memories.

i don’t want perfection and aching lungs and dry, pinpricky eyes

 

i want tears and yelling

and laughing until you might maybe be sobbing

and hours of nothing but silence and

the crinkle of paper

 

i want fingernail scratches on shoulder blades,

scratches that fade in the skin but burn in the memory and

i want pools of milky moonlight

settling in collarbones

 

i want eyes that can talk to me

from across the room

and lips that twist when they’re annoyed and

twitch when they’re witty and

tremble when they’re sad

 

i want a heart that knock

knock

knocks on its ribcage

and breath that mingles with mine.

 

i want mornings that are tired and cranky

with kisses all the same

and i want fingers twisted with mine and

moments that i get to be a part of

 

but mostly i just want nights.

those long, quiet, velvety nights

i want to be able to shut my eyes tight

and still hear that bird heart

knocking out a beatbeatbeat when

i wake up

 

because with you, i blinked

and it was over

a memory after all

 

and maybe you were perfect

but honey,

i can’t keep my eyes open forever.