Ouroboros is typing a reply…
“I miss you.”
She had typed each letter
with thumbs that already knew the way.
That was at least a half-hour ago,
via direct-message, which was
a slightly incomplete method
of describing one-way messages
traveling the speed of light
towards their destinations;
A miracle of technology
that may as well had been substituted
by carrier pigeon
or message in a bottle,
for all the good it did her tonight,
or any other night she found herself
She stares at her phone
for a notification that won’t come
or perhaps ever.
Who can say with that boy?
God damn him.
God damn that lovely,
God damn his dreamy eyes
and his earthy scent.
He is taken with another.
She knows this
and tries to shrug this truth away,
knowing he knows the way back to her,
knowing she will open to receive
despite all common sense;
he doesn’t deserve her grace, but
she’ll extend it for as long as it takes
as long as it extends their private duets.
She needs to know she still matters to him,
even knowing that all that knowing does
is make her bite her lip,
chewing on his absence.
ingesting delicious potions,
and green smoke; she’s faded,
divided against herself;
her mind craves comforts
her body finds increasingly toxic,
pooling upon her needy tongue,
seeping into her spleen and spine.
His saccharine non-declarations,
when whispered softly into her
arched spine under cover of night,
warm her bones against her
malnourished brain’s better judgment;
when etched electronically,
they relieve her scanning eyes
while stinging her perceptive heart.
And when there is nothing but his silence,
that leaves only text that never refreshes.
Two hours fall away into nothing,
and there is nothing from that foolish,
delicious, selfish boy.
She logs off social media
a rather incomplete method of
describing some rather
closing apps, tabs, and legs
for another lonely evening
of binge-watching stories
of lonely characters behaving foolishly,
perpetuating their own loneliness.
Shared on Real Toads The Tuesday Platform.