How many ways can a heart break?
How many ways can it be seen?
It’s different than being watched–
that’s what they teach us
(that’s what I’ve learned, anyway).
They are watching me, all of them:
walking, sitting, eating, drinking,
readying themselves
to be the same animal I am.
But they don’t teach us that.
Animals?
What animals?
Do squirrels know a broken heart?
A lost friend, cousin, partner,
hopeful wanna-be?
Do humans have a “special”
bone in their bodies?
Back to heart break, then.
One way, friendship.
You make excuses.
You give them the room they need to hurt you
because you love them, and so they leave you
(congratulations on your wedding–
your dress was snug, but otherwise alright.
P.S. I don’t know how to forgive you).
Sometimes, you hurt them, friends.
Sometimes, you don’t know how or why.
Letter to future self (heck no, past self):
communication is a measure of maturity.
If someone won’t talk to you, it’s not your fault.
Go find someone that will, and send your love
to the quiet one. Fuck them, but love them anyway.
And then there was the time you fell in love with her
anyway, the time you learned that it was possible.
The world of love is not only “he’s” and “she’s.”
That is good.
And then you look behind that crevice in your heart’s
third chamber and you see all the “he’s”:
the high school acquaintance, the high school sweetheart,
the best friend. You see the quiet, lonely college boy
in the body of a man, the head-one-size-too-big gentleman
who was not so gentle, took a plane to Berlin
and never called again. You see the stupid in-betweens
who you never really cared for, who sunk you down
slowly, slowly,
and the one you learned from for a year,
but still kind of reminds you of Arnie.
And then there’s you.
The perfect face. The perfect hair.
The perfect laugh. The perfect stare.
All the perfections of a momentary crush
that don’t seem to shake off.
You’re just the next one to break my heart.
I don’t want you to, though. It feels too good
thinking of you. So I’ll keep the talking to a minimum
in my head, save it for next time I see you and make up
another story of how I’m not good enough,
of the ways your perfection (I know “there’s no perfect,”
but you still mesmerize me)- could never consider
looking my broken hearted way.
But you don’t know how I feel, do you?
Why would you?
I’ve known you for 2 years
but have felt this for 2 months.
It never makes sense, remember?
Because humans are not special.
Because no one is watching.
Because we’re all just trying
to find someone,
some one,
to see us.
Titled inspired by/owed to: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tqvuydbEv10
September 30, 2018
