This is not a poem

February 8, 2014 § Leave a comment

Our detachment resembled the scissors cutting through paper,
drifting apart slowly and quickly

—swoosh

The pause between every motion of the fingers,
painted the wool that sew our arms together

I love you like the first time you told me your secret.

—swoosh

The threads are untangling and the reasons are vivid,
I wonder why I ever fell for you

-swoosh swoosh

The tape glues the paper together and the edges overlay,
I am reminded

-swoosh swoosh

Some of the edges are on either side,
you clutched a part of me,
I clasped a part of you

swoosh swoosh swoosh

The edge is near,
The paper will be split to two,
I try to hold on to the ashes you glued on to me

swoosh swoosh swoosh

It is over now.

I am another piece of paper now,
you are someone else now,

The wind blows,
the distance plays its course

It is over now.

Perhaps we will be painted with experiences in the future,
yellow,
blue,

so when we look for the tape,
we can be green again.

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