Suits are made for men not boys

     It was the kind of cold like in the Spring when that unexpected spot of shade is 20 degrees cooler than everywhere else and you're surprised. You pulled up, the dirt climbing your car like ivy on a fortress wall, without eye contact. There was that sense that something was different, that all things were about to be different. I spent the last day with a feeling in my stomach as if I was perpetually going over the railroad tracks on Front. You were never good at being cryptic.
     The words: "I need a break", roll off your tongue like you've been practicing them for 3 hours straight. No eye contact still, like a presentation you started the night before. I asked if you ever even loved me, and in a cracked voice you said that it was the worst day of your life having to tell me you wanted a break and that you'd always love me. You're just a ghost now.
      That one day in August was the day you changed, and for once I can say that it wasn't me. It's been 4 months and the world you've been in isn't the same as mine. At some point you have to pack up your grief in a suitcase and leave it at a dark corner so you can function again. There's only so much heartbreak I can watch you handle, my heart isn't the relentless drummer it once was. I left that in a suitcase in a place I can't go back to. I can't pretend any longer that I can be stable enough for the both of us. It's hard to watch the person you love fall out of love with everything, I don't know how to turn that into poetry.

Mountains and Valleys

Secrets and vespers fill the air, the space that they created where only they exist. They cannot stop, they have been at this for far too long. There is too much to lose though neither have each other. They are not for having. The walls and labyrinth he spoke of all have crumbled as they redrew the lines where they saw fit. The line is jagged and faded in most places and they notice. He hadn't been touched in years and he craved the voice of her touch, it's been two Augusts. Dark red streaks down his back, the touch of the ear, and his soft hair that was fading with time. They were held back by affection and fear and prudence, but the wall on the mountain side no longer stood and the wind that balanced them was too fierce to maintain. They can never grow apart, she saved him when no one else would. Or could. Another soul stepped in, too old to do the job but too young to know better. She does not know him or how capable of heartbreak he is. He never means to break hearts but is well aware that he will, every time. I know that if I could just talk to him once more that I could move on, but that is just the lie i tell myself. I will always want more. It is the voracious ambition of humans to never be sated, to believe that the next time will be better and more than what once was.