He runs his fingers across the wood of the café table top. It was the same place I had sat across from him months ago and first taken note of his kind, crisp eyes—blue with a green gloss. Now, I can see them studying my face, his brow in pitied curl, his hands resting flat. And I had been always aware of his hands—their aggression on my hip, their hesitation on my cheek. The hands that said so much but never enough.
“Something’s missing.”
“It’s been this way awhile.”
I watch blurred forms pass me, in pairs, in smiles, as we share a silent walk to the lot. The cars are parked diagonally in their places.
Waiting.
Crooked.
Metal.
Our steps diverge.
“You deserve love, and I can’t get there.”
“And I’m still in that same spot.”
I collect book, shirt, all the his in a bag, and I make the last leg to the house. I hover on the doorstep, float into the room. His words spiral between us, some flinging from the void and stinging my skin. And I watch him turn away as he rubs the steam burn on his inner wrist—a heart-shaped burn with a thick blue vein running through its center.
“How do you feel?”
Broken.
3 comments:
Beautiful and clear- and I agree you deserve everything and all of it. I know that the strong and resilent Kensie will learn and grow and come out better than before. I truly believe that.
People are lucky to love you and receive your love.
I love you so!
Mackensie! I saw your blog on your facebook and I just had to check it out. I am a total blogger, but I don't even want to give you my address because I am embarrassed! You write so beautifully and inspire me to want to learn to write better and express my ideals as eloquently as you! Who knew that this was the same Mackensie I spent all my adolescence with! I am amazed and I love you! (Oh and this is Mike and Carly as in Carly Haynie.)
It's been two months since you've penned these words. It hurt to read them then and it hurts more now. Broken is now joined by empty, lost, confused and a host of others. As I watch you move on I wonder why I'm not. I wonder if what you felt for me was as real as it seemed. I don't know if reading this helps me move on, or only binds me to a time that has passed. Still, I'm thankful I have this poem to read -to remind that what we once shared was indeed real.
Thank you, Mackensie.
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