There are some days we dream about the gods.
There are times our faith leaves us with so much hope
we decide to jump from a burning bridge in order to feel ourselves gliding away
from the fire.
We pray for those spiritual moments to come
so that we have something to do when all the minutes ticking in-between feel broken.
We have all had our heart broken once.
even a few thousand times more.
The first time I knew he’d break my heart
was the day I gave it to him. It was the same day
the sun had left its apricot sky for us
to kiss beneath.
he told me this story about how his mother once starved for two days
so he and his sister could take lunch to school.
I fell in love with him
knowing his words could set off a time bomb in my chest
the skeletons would knock their bones against the closet door.
He once said he wanted to be a wrecking ball.
I think he wanted to be a construction worker or a surgeon.
An occupation which he could build something
where only rubble had been left.
There are days I wish he could have put together the shattered walls of my chest
from the day I realized he’d thrown a glacier into it.
Left it melting with my rain of tears,
melting the ice so fast there was nothing left to do but drown.
There are nights I want to fall asleep counting each strand of his hair,
the way God would on his good days.
There are days I wish I could’ve known he’d not been the one
to believe in.
That faith is more than sharing an ice cream cone,
sunlight on our pale faces in the morning,
butterflies in the stomach.
You said it is something more.