you’re the one film in my mind’s cinema,
on an endless loop, and yet, i never tire of it.
you’re the creased, tear-stained letter
i pretend i haven’t read over and over again.
of all the cars that pass under the stoplight in my town,
it’s only ever red for you.
you’re the fingerprint on my window pane i always seem to miss,
one that stays for weeks. until i stubbornly rub it away.
you’re a never-ending vinyl,
an album my mind can’t stop from spinning,
and no matter how much the needle scratches,
the tracks always sound the same.
my imessages always left on delivered,
unless, of course, you need me for something.
your replies come faster then, than the heat in the summer,
until some switch flips, and it’s once again winter.
and i can pretend, like i have for years,
that it doesn’t bother me, and it doesn’t really,
that you’re happy, i want you to be happy.
i want your happiness — to consume your life,
like the sea foam and its wave melt into the ocean.
is it an intrusion for me to see you that way?
to notice the color in your eyes is the
very same blue as the trim on that pullover of yours.
and maybe i’m the problem —
maybe i came off the line already broken.
then it wasn’t this life that did me in,
or that softest edge in your voice, so rare
to make an appearance over your cutting tone,
that ruined me for everyone else.
could it be that my alignment
was just off from the very start?