Not Even Air

After what felt like years of growing further
and further into ourselves
withdrawing from each other
each into the warm cocoon of comfort that
only our own skin can provide
because you know that your own skin
is never going to make you feel less.
Less than what you had hoped for.
Less than what you had dreamed.
Less than what was planned.
Less than every wish
that you ever threw at any star 
in the cosmos…hoping upon hope
that some spirit in the universe would grab 
onto it and make it come true.
And so I walked. Hoping we could still be friends.
I gathered what dignity and self respect
that I had left and packed it with the little
bits of hope for future that remained
and I shut the door on what once was.

And now, six months later
I’ve begun to live again.
And I love again.
And I hope again.
But now, on my horizon
is the final end to us.
One last step to complete dissolution
of what once was.
Nothing can prepare you 
for these feelings.
For the heartbreak that is felt
as you can feel the book closing
and the pages fitting more and more
tightly together
until there is no longer room for anything.
Not even air.
And for what feels like a million pound,
Ten day death march
to a funeral that I requested
when I walked out the door.


(December 7, 2011)