I’m trying
to come out the other side,
to find that light,
to breathe again
after years underwater.
I’m trying
but I’ve realized
there probably isn’t
another side.

I’m thirty-five
and don’t feel
above eighteen,
and I suddenly see
what all those old people
were talking about.

We don’t grow up
we just grow.

There isn’t another side.
There is just a tunnel through.

There is no mythic light,
no clean air,
just swimming.

I can’t get past you.
I can only get through it,
swim in it
until I have no breath left.

I want life to be like the movies,
a fiction turned reality
where you and I live fairytales
until we reach the end together.

But I know that I am thirty-five
and feel eighteen,
that young dreams
are just dreams
of who we wish
we could have been.
I know that this me is
just a new version
of the me who loved you,
who was too afraid of losing
to let go.

I’m not sure
we ever really change.
I’m just sure that
who I am was made by you–
your fingers,
your voice,
your distance,
your feigned indifference–
and I’ve been lost
since I lost you.



2 thoughts on “Indifference

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