Cracked Screen

I’m exhausted.

I’ve spent the day fighting myself and there is no winner in view. Just punches and pummels plunking this thickened skin.

Thickset red skin in the chest cavity.

It’s hard not wanting what you want. And I want her. Only if it were that simple.

You stare at her face on the cracked screen of your Samsung and debate whether to touch it and say hi. You’re not worried about what she will say. You’re just wondering if she’ll say anything.

You have not moved on. Maybe she has. Maybe that’s why you’re saying hi. To see whether you’ve been left behind like Sodom and Gomorrah. You feel the heat already. The cold heat of restlessness. Of emptiness.  You just want her to look back and see how desperately you need her. That had she stayed, God would have spared the city. The godless city that you were only needed the grace she stood for.

You stare at her face on the cracked screen.

Cracked hopes, skewed dreams. The ink is spilling over your plans for the both of you. Nothing is clear anymore. She was what you wanted but what you couldn’t have.



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