You are my elsewhere
I am here and you are everywhere else
Never here and always somewhere else
She is a year ago.
She is the ache in the empty,
the first time you changed your mind
and the last time you were sorry about it.
She is a city sleeping beside you,
warm and vast and familiar, streetlights
yawning and stretching,
and you have never. You have never.
You have never loved someone like this.
She is your first stomach ache.
Your first panic attack and your
favorite cold shower.
A mountain is moving somewhere
inside of you, and her handprints are all over it.
Here. Here. Here, you love her.
In the fractured morning, full of
too tired and too sad, she is the first
foot that leaves the bed.
She is the fight in you, the winning
and the losing battle
floating like a shipwreck in your chest.
When they ask you what your favorite moment is,
You will say Her.
You will always say Her.
I’ve heard they tore down the place where we first met along with its floorboards which held our footsteps as we first exchanged gazes and uncertain smiles.
I look at the rubble that was left of this place hoping to find a trace of warmth on the debris scattered everywhere, looking for the absence of us.
As I try to reconstruct in my mind every nook and cranny of this place, looking for the breadth and depth that we shared, that point of similarity from which everything else is anchored only to realize that whatever it was is gone. And could only be located in imagined spaces, breeding imagined scars and imagined hearts.