One Fail Away From Done

Foxes coil into monobrowed skulls, glaring at my ineptness, my inability to correctly describe them in all their confusing glory,
Why do they stare at me as Finley’s paws scrape at their features, unknowing, heavenly?
My index finger grazes the tear between my lips; it sinks in, head in the shell, eager to show a nasty scab in which he will fall into and love her harder,
A fingernail catches the gap in between my canine and molar, scraping unkindly against the wires of desperate desires to be perfect,
That’s how I have always imagined myself, perfect; like the girl I didn’t know I liked when I was eleven years old and thought it was normal to want to put my hand around hers, like best friends do,
I imagine that when I look from my office window, with its spirals and dots and unwilling blots, the world stares back and waits for my next move,
Life according to me, should be life according to all,
Unfortunately, it’s not, and the train leaves the station as they lean from the window and wave at me in the rain, beneath the sodding sky,
I remember telling them I loved when the skies opened and expected him to gaze at me in wonderment, as though time had not passed and I shone brighter still,
And yet he smiled through his downturned mouth at her crappy Abba trousers and Nasa jumper, watching her struggle, offering his hand,
And I tripped on the cobbles in boots like socks and a waist like your wrist, trying not to try but trying so hard.
Over dinner, he said we got on like a house on fire and I wish I were in that house, burning and screaming and regretting my existence and saying things like
Luv ya
When I should’ve realised I meant
I love you