kill off your ghosts.

let me cross my arms and stare at you for awhile.

you’re really a terrible liar, you know. everybody knows. one slow blink. a lot of history can be resurrected in a moment like that. but forgive me—i’m interrupting this conversation of our eyes with a pivot. i’m spinning on my heel, away from you, my long hair following. when i turn back around, handing you the pen you asked for, you put a hand on my back. i stare at you. you brush my shirt. “you had some fuzz on your shirt,” you say defensively.

funny how your touch is still familiar. and yet, i never woke up next to you. i was always the reasonable one, saying goodbye before it got too easy to just stay. even when it rained, when it was cold—i went home at the end of the night. 

you’re still talking to me. why are you looking at me like that?

you’re so transparent. (so am i, of course). did you forget that i know all of your secrets? there’s a wall between us now, and it’s been there for awhile. there might even be some ivy growing over it. you built that wall—remember?

when i told you goodbye the last time, i refused to lie, even then. i never said i’d miss you.

you hand the pen back to me. for one fraction of a second, your eyes are completely frank (they are very blue, your eyes). i know you wish you could change things.

i don’t. i gave up on this give and take a long, long time ago.