Running in the Dark

well.

in 12 days, 11 hours, and 16 minutes, it will be one year since the most traumatic event of my life.

in 12 days, 11 hours, and 16 minutes, it no longer will make sense

to weep over you;

the way i do each late night.

tonight.

you and the way your bright green eyes

light up on foggy mornings,

the way your soft, milky skin curves along your jawline,

the way you walk,

radiating insecurity,

hands in pockets.

the way you looked at me,

when you ran out of words.

one eyebrow higher than the other,

and a mouth smirked,

as if saying

"look, i love you so much

that i get nervous around you

and so i cannot think of anything to say..

why,

isn't that funny?"

your rare smile.

sure, you've smiled since.

plenty.

fake laughs with your head drawn way back.

your eyes searching,

straining deep in the corners

to see if i am watching.

i am.

no. not that smile.

the smile i knew,

when your lips drew back slightly in the corners

and your shoulders shook,

barely detectable,

with a quiet, high laugh.

sometimes when you laughed,

it came out only in breaths.

it's like you were so focused on whatever made you happy-

the pureness of it-

that you forgot to breathe.

to make a sound.

i guess that's how i've felt since we stopped loving each other.

like i can't breathe.

can't make the right sound.

but maybe that's more because i'm so focused on pretending things make me happy.

but now i suppose it doesn't matter anymore.

no. it doesn't matter.

after all, i couldn't be in love with you.

it's been much too long

since you've looked at me

without hatred

rimmed on the edges of each eyelid.

that night,

weeks after you ended it,

when i carved your name into my wrist with a safety pin;

sitting cross-legged in the darkness of my room.

oh, no.

why, it's all so mindless now.

after all, you don't want me.

you don't want the mess you created.

no.