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you know how words are magical, so I don't think I have to explain to
you
(like I did to him, like he
didn't realize)
the creation of ink and paper and meaning
and how a self (or
half a self)
can be locked on paper
cause once I write it down it doesn't change, and it won't
move, won't hang
on my arm like I

hung on yours
past tense already

I used to be
somebody
who loved and laughed and knew how to
make you laugh and cry and

but she's your inspiration
and I end up writing about you even when
I have to
stop
in the middle of sentences because the 'you' keeps
changing

there are too many yous
I told you that already
too many words to put down, too many
nights I spent crying and pounding on the pillow,
too many nights I stayed up, hoping
to be tired enough so that I wouldn't
dream

living in the moment works best
when you can't stand
to think about
anything else.