A Bitter Cure

I can’t go back
to where we made
our memories.
Those places exist
only in spaces
I’ve seen but once.
Like that tiny stretch
of sand
where you proclaimed
your love
or an oceanfront bar
where you sneaked
sips of warm beer
under sunset skies.
So I imagine new places
to see your face.
I walk imaginary paths
where tropical fronds
brush my shoulders
and your footsteps
echo mine.
They say
the good memories
are the hardest
so what happens
when they are all good?
What happens
when we didn’t have
enough time
for bad?
I guess that just makes
it harder.
No bitter
to tame the sweet,
no poison
to balance the cure.
It makes the absence
just a little sharper,
just a bit more jagged,
because I can’t find excuses
to hate you.
But I guess
that makes me hate you
and so does your silence.
So I balance my longing
with my anger.
Your fear leads you
and so does mine
so I’m mad at that
I guess.
We stay where we are
because risk
is too daunting,
too real,
too defiant
of our own pride.
I’m an idiot
who misses you
and who writes
stupid poetry
like this
where I look back
and don’t even know
what I’ve written.
And you?
You speak with lyrics
written by sad hearts
playing angry strings
and you hold
my pictures
while the memories
rebreak your heart.


4 thoughts on “A Bitter Cure

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