Crayons

It's gone and I never even saw it leave. It must've been. Or else how could I feel its loss. Like day turns to night sereptitiously. So quietly those fingers become a fist.

My shoulder is this chasm. Choking on all the words that drop. My tears are fallen. Not caught.

It left, though I never felt its entry. It's exit was acute. A triangle of nights that all pointed at. So many circles without their degrees.

It's gone like so many things that people claim. Fast talking hearts and amiable salespeople. A discount at a time they measure and negate.

How hard would it be to love me? How difficult could it be? To look at this broken staircase and place your foot upon it. Feel the climb it wishes to give.

How useless am I. Worthless as I've ever been. That even in your most desperate hour still you chose not to come to me.

Must it be? That everything that we share keeps us apart. That love adheres to such strict boundaries.

Where am I now? Nowhere. Always.

Broken or together. Still you see the same pieces. And you want none of them.

It's gone, but I still hope for its return. It's a collage. But that one picture is all I see.

Color me in with your heart's crayon. Don't leave these outlines to wonder if.