september was the storm that ripped
through my ribcage
and you were my favorite tune to hum
back then,
back when after you left
I used to trap myself behind the glass
to move
the hands of the clock
believing I could resist time if I just pushed hard enough

then it was july and the tick-tock fought me
while for the first time I fought
for a breath of stale air that
tasted like nostalgia
and uncertainty
and worst of all, you

yesterday when I wiped my finger across
the banister
a layer of memories crumpled beneath
my fingertips but
I bit my tongue before I could lick the
dust because
it is better to bleed in my mouth than
in my heart

if time doesn’t stop for the greatest of
the living then
why should it stop for the already
deceased, so
it is almost september again
which marks the anniversary of the death
of what could have been
and I promise you,
I am no longer thinking about us tomorrow