Not Them

I’m not her,
the one you see
when you close your eyes.
My hands are
My eyes aren’t hers
and my lips don’t taste like
the ones you dream about
when you’re alone in the dark
crying for the want of her.

You are not him,
the one I feel
when you touch me.
Your hands are
Your mouth isn’t his
and your brown eyes
don’t look the way I need them to
when I’m searching for something,
anything to make me whole again.

We are not them,
the ones we
yearn for,
scream for.
We are different.
We are distant.
But we need just the same.

I am not her.
You are not him,

but we could be
to each other
when the dark is too much
and the stars aren’t quite bright enough
to light our way,
when the silence is too quiet
and our tears waterfall around us.

We could at least be someone.
Even if it’s just pretend.


6 thoughts on “Not Them

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