I crossed you out
over yesterday's bookmarks
containing endless tragedies.
This month brings a tide
of remembering
and I hate it
because it is exhausting to live with memories.

Trapped behind a showcase of books
that contain words in which
you're scared to lose yourself
(or find yourself)

You ran your tracks all over me
like a derailed train
and I, a lost engine
stayed put in the middle of nowhere.

In my silent reverie
I almost forgot you belonged to another world
a place unkempt with secrets I couldn't possibly fathom.

Feeling numb
is like being another entity all together.

The past
splintered my heart
and parceled it off to the moon
to live in exile.