Loss is like an old lover
whose bruises you still carry
because you never learned
how to say I'm sorry
or I forgive you.
You try to learn how to behave.
How to sit still with a person
or a place and have it equal
contentment.
*
All good things take time, yes,
but you did not even think
that you would make it to thirty.
You owe the world now.
All the prayers it said for you.
*
Do not love him, do not love him,
do not love him.
Turn this into law.
Repeat it until your stomach is full
and you are sick.
He is outside your window,
singing. He is always singing
and waiting for you to tap along,
not understanding what it means
for your feet to be still.
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