that isn’t even me. it’s you.
Don’t lose pieces of yourself inside his mosaic.
If there is shattering, then there will always be a rebuild.
Worship the moon instead of his favorite song
and the next time you hear it, don’t sing along.
Never walk the three miles to his house
even after all the gin is gone
and your friends have taken away the keys.
Your time with him is out.
Stop pretending you can still hear the clock ticking.
Trace the equator on an atlas
instead of all the tattoos you remember from his spine
so you’ll finally have a place you’ll be able to end up at.
This was just a typo in your life story.
You’ll know how to proofread it better next time.
Until then, even if it takes a forklift,
sit yourself up from the floor
and let your heart go door to door
until it finally finds what it’s looking for.