I Wanted To Love You

In the snow, we whistled, chased birds, threw ourselves down hills, ran along railroad tracks and chased trains blindly through the soft senescent light of streetlights. We drank tea and coffee and ran together and fought and I broke the spines of your books as an act of vengeance.

In the flowers, we bled, we hunted, we drank ourselves to tears and we sold ourselves to each other for the price of a single idea. It wasn’t love, but something like it. We fell, dazed, into the spindly fingers of spring and let ourselves decompose. We blossomed. We grew and unfolded ourselves like flowers.

In the water, we sweated and breathed on each other and found each other unbearable. You left. I stayed. I left, you stayed. We were damaged goods and I tried to take you back, but turned away at the last minute, clinging to your hand, unable to give you away. I wanted to love you, but you didn’t.

In the leaves, we fell, clear-eyed and strong. We said no goodbyes and we knew why. We lost each other in the haze of orange, red, and yellow. We said no goodbyes. There were none to say.