|image by Svetlana Belyaeva|
You, who lived in the walls,
now live in the air.
You, who lived in my heart
now live in the margins of grander stuff.
There are windows.
(You don't care about windows.)
There are borderless nights, and sounds I did not know I could make.
(You don't care about that, either.)
Everything's a brag with you,
while down here it's all cement and stones, glass and goulash.
Shut up for once, I said on that first night, smiling,
when you were sweaty and happy and talking rot.
Now when I say it, I do not smile.
and curse you,
every ethereal blameless bit.
for Sunday Muse #71.