Written Through These Amber Eyes

Are both lives possible? The ocean tides pulled me to her smile; suddenly, I remembered it was always my laughter. My phone’s automatic memories bring me to our pictures; quickly, I recall how easy it was to let me leave. I’ve been gone for so long, but life finally feels better for me. It would always have been me running to congratulate her team. Even if I ponder while glaring at the clock above these cubicle walls. This is what I left everything in the past for. There’s a stagnant coldness day to day because the moon only meets the sun a few times a year. I wonder if the moon aches at the thought that, during the last goodbye, there was no idea that it would be the final warmth for a long time. 

Are both lives possible? The alarm goes off from across the bedroom; suddenly, I am standing in my bedroom at 4:30, skipping songs on a playlist I made while fighting every emotion to maintain no contact. By the time it’s 7:30, I’m taking a daily selfie before running out the door. The rest is a blur of everyday life until the train home, with whatever shuffled songs are playing at this point in the day. Will I write tonight? Probably not. The self-writing of the day was maybe three lines of thoughts that ran through my mind throughout the day. The moon comes out on my last walk of the day, something to always look up at; I suppose that’s their new sun. The outside sees the change overnight, but it’s okay that the change is happening much longer on the inside because no one knows where they go after.