my fingers bleed words across the page
they bloom and darken
under the weight of their message
maybe one day they will sprout flowers instead
red and fresh,
a different kind of wound
yet a wound nonetheless

will i miss you forever?
will i see a trace of you
in every line i write?
this traitorous heart of mine
yet loyal to a fault
would you rather
we had never met?

for i have not the courage
to say the words
“i miss you, i’m sorry”
yet they remain in my mind
the temptation of vulnerability
far more difficult to resist
than other, worldly desires

so i say it
into the yellowed torn out page
of my diary
then discard it like
it was nothing to me

so i whisper it
into the darkness of a moonlit night
through blurry eyes
when it’s hard to breathe
and i’m floating between worlds

so i breathe it
into every other word i say
and it isn’t really what i meant
but in the end
through ends and ends

i miss you, i'm sorry