who would have known.

One day I woke up and you were there next to me as the sun it hid behind the morning clouds and you, you kissed my forehead and walked away. Many nights, I go to sleep and think of this, how impermanent and fleeting it will all be in three, two, one. When the lights fade in the underground. When I rest against the shoulders that I met so many years ago and suddenly they become so thin they disappear. I walked down Powell and I saw the way they looked at me. And you, you with your lips and your cheekbones, you with a smile I squeeze your hand. There are times when I get so dizzy I forget to eat and sleep and think. I take one turn of my head and my mind goes completely blank, like in the car that night as the road faded from liquor stores to bars to cop cars to fast food restaurant chains. If you let it slip, does it still mean something? Did you let it slip because this will never, can never, we can't ever let this, mean anything at all? I throw away a lot in my life, treat men like they are disposable, and I am sorry. It's third-wave feminism and self-absorption and being too afraid to feel safe in a world that tells me be pretty, be young, be full of life, be spontaneous, make good decisions, kiss him kiss him kiss him underneath the water, shivering, until your teeth chattering becomes a smile painted on both your slick, smooth, chlorine-drenched lips. If I make mistakes, please forgive me. Please let it go when the day is old and the night rains and peels away the layers of years and makes us young again. I walk down the street. I think of you and all of those before. I wonder this time, maybe, ironically, sadistically: Because I know I can never have your heart, because I know that your feelings will be lost somewhere on the misty streets and in the fog that clears away behind tall, shiny building frames, and because your heart will be left here to ripen and then decay slowly, peacefully, beautifully - does that mean I can finally give away my own?