What we had was so intimate. A bond corroded by flames fed on uncertainty, harmonized with self doubt and shame. A time barrier. A virtual wall. You turned this transparency into an opaque ebony, made tangible by your own doing.

I held your face in my hands, feeling the rough beard I had come to know so well against my own cheeks.
I said, "I love you."
You said, "I like you"?

At that moment I knew you were to never be mine, but I just a pawn in your scheme. A pawn misplaced, to hold space for the queen I so yearned to be. Those three minimal words you never said struck me like the copious amounts of energy inflicting their anger upon the Earth from the clouds above. The shakes of thunder rolled through my body as you vanished, leaving my hands to no longer linger on the rough sighs of your face, but to hold only the tear streaked skin upon my own.

All I hope now is that the sickness that has weakened me to such dissidence is not just a personal epidemic. I hope that somewhere in your empty shell you found enough space to hold the slightest emotion for me for this virus to find host.

I want you to caress your navy blue sheets under your rugged, tattered hands and remember all the cold nights we kept so warm, how we suspended light into the darkness with our laughter. I want you to long for the soft touch of my arms wrapping around the small of your back telling you:
"It's okay baby,





just let me hold you and it will be okay..."

But the storm has passed. The coals gone dull. And what you tore from me has long turned into ash.