Wasteland

When strangers
look at me,
I wonder
if they can see
how you hover
near the surface
of my eyes.
Parts of you
tangle with mine
and I wonder
how we could be
so connected
yet so desperately apart.
I have no illusions
that you will be mine.
I know that we are fleeting
and fast
and too hot
to stay ablaze.
This wasteland
we call love
should never exist,
so fragile
and flawed
and focused on
what we can’t have
instead of what we did have.
But those moments
were magic
and fast breathing
and future
and it’s so hard
to let them go
because I lived
when I was with you
and I don’t think
I’ve done much since.
My heart
and bones
and fingers
and all the other parts of me
have been waiting
to feel that way again
but I’m afraid
that means I need you.