Maybe that’s all we were–two people, trying to make sense of things, conflating with silent, tender desires.
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Updated 5 years ago,May 7, 2020
It was almost as if I belonged to you.Tied up with lace and wrapped in a silk sheet,I was yours to unfold and use.And you, with your cold hands,your distant chest, the resistance in your voiceI hardly noticed it.I only ever saw the slope of your body,the ease of enveloping yourself in bedwith me, without ever having to fold.
I wanted us, so badly, to be real.So I opened myself.I let myself be willingand I wore my heart on my sleeveas if that was the only thing I knew how to do with you.
Annie Spratt
But I see it clearly now,how we were just a figment of my imagination,more or less.We were two people, trying to make sense of things,conflating with silent, tender desires.More than anything,we were longing for something.
I no longer think of you the way I used to.I no longer think aboutwhat could have been,and what sweet that relief that is.
