It’s too late for your half finished sonnet
you changed the rules (and didn’t tell me)

There are things she won’t imagine.

She bends over to grab the last box of Oreos when she catches a glimpse of something. She doesn’t move and stares at the floor because this shouldn’t be happening. She presses her lips together and closes her eyes (because this is a dream).

His voice carries a bit and she knows she should stand up and leave but her feet are rooted to the ground and pushing the lines is her new life (we all fall down)

A few steps could end it but she’s not in a cardigan anymore and somehow she can’t ignore this (it’s a test and this is all I have). So she walks forward with her chin raised, hands brushing the sides of her jeans. Smiling is easier than she thought and greetings are distant but he still makes her hands fidget and face warm and she can’t quite tell if that’s good or bad.

She realizes she’s still clutching her Oreos when he walks away and I loved you isn’t quite the right thing to say at a time like this. Words are nice but somehow it can’t be the same (we used to be part of a beautiful story).

***

She remembers drowning in half confessions and keeping something buried, and brushes off the guilt. (I didn’t abandon anything)

***

She lets the memory ferment in the back of her mind and watching cars go by from her balcony she thanks him.

(Quicksand, you can’t always win)