When She Leaves

The morning started off silent, as I recall it.
Only the sound of spoons scraping the bottom of bowls.
The sun peaked in through the curtains that were ripped.
And the clock stopped working, so we always had the time wrong.

And she wiped her mouth with her sweater sleeve.
Before whispering, “I can’t believe I have to leave.”
I almost kept searching for the right words in my spoon.
But somehow I said this, “So, you’ll be staying in your old room?”

She slightly grins, now leaning back in her chair.
It makes a small scream, and I can’t help but think.
How can an object with no wear or tear
plead, as if it knows she will leave?

Does it know? Could it possibly know what will happen?
Does it know how I will really feel?
Can it tell by the way my foot is nervously tappin’?
It must know that my heart’s gone still.

For when she leaves, my words make their leave too.
My mind falls to pieces and my heart asks for a redo.
Every language ceases to exist, every wish drowned by fear.
Every breath I take is shallow, and I keep breaking mirrors.

It’s hard to explain what’s happening, and why things are what they are.
But just know that I’m an astronomer and she’s the brightest star.
Now my star is falling, much like the pieces of my heart that stay loyal to my chest.
Will I live without her? I guess I must try my best.

For when she leaves, the last rose starts to wilt.
Art starts to die, and sociopaths start to feel guilt.
My black pen goes missing, I forget my favorite songs.
And all my answers turn out wrong.

That night as I crawled into bed, almost like I’d break.
I looked out my window and gazed at all the stars.
I named the constellations and couldn’t help but pray.
God, tell me, does a star fall too far?

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3 thoughts on “When She Leaves

  1. I could feel the mounting dread but towards the end instead of something looming and terrible (that might have been achieved by cold and clinical details – is she ill? does she belong to someone else? is she going back to her motherland?) you have harnessed it into something profoundly sad by putting a prime on your own heart. Such a bittersweet poem. And a peek into your own heart.

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    1. Oddly enough I didn’t even mean to send the link! Copy and pasted the wrong thing onto Omegle, and I was like, “Oh, good going. You messed up.” So it’s crazy that you actually went and read it, and would comment. Thank you for your words!

      Like

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