the guilt was so subtle, obscured by the smoke
The memory came heartbreakingly through the clutter of dinner conversation. I ((the girl who wandered around that ritzy grocery store with you looking for shrimp and sauce and rice)) whispered to me ((the girl who writes poetry questioning the legitimacy of her first brush with illegitimacy in years)) I think I know right now. And maybe it was watching you washing dishes in that kitchen which beat my heart three times, one. two. three., in the direction of the catalyst for this break. I ((the girl who writes poetry questioning the future of her first brush with unlove in years)) whispers to me ((the girl who rereads this with an unpredictable emotion in her heart months later)) He was no catalyst, he was not even hardly a symptom. We both know we wouldn’t change a thing.
The memory came heartbreakingly through the feeling of yr fingers playing with my hair. I ((the girl who put her head on yr lap on the couch and let her tears cascape across her face)) whispered to me ((the girl who knows what it means to sleep soundly again)) Oh, I’m sure of it. And surely all of that drunkeness and wanderlust gave me practice for learning how to handle this.