Sandcastles

The last time I saw you smile
was the day we chased each other in the rain.
That was two years ago.
It was the same day we had our first fight
about god knows what
and lasted for god knows how long.
It stopped raining that day
and we felt the drought every day after.
Do you remember how it felt to love me?
When I read your face
it’s like the pages of a suspense novel;
the lines don’t say anything of laughter,
but only of regret.
For the last two years
your suspense kept me off balance,
like at any moment you were going to let the pin drop
and burst our bubble.
My moments of weakness never helped,
when I looked at my wrists like cutting boards;
but I’ve never had the guts to be a surgeon.
I could never swallow the amount of pills it would take
to leave you behind in the dust of my bones.
I never meant to scare you, love.
I’m sorry I had the idea to quit
when we still had something worth fighting for,
and not having the courage
to pack my suitcase when we didn’t.
You were done, you said,
rebuilding our sandcastles
while you watched my tides rise.
When you said it was over,
there was no rug beneath me to be swept from.
I just made sure I kept breathing
through the silence that followed,
let my tears fall on the hardwood floor,
and I didn’t say anything
before I left your apartment for the last time.
There were times I was sure I loved you.
Most of the time, I think you loved me too.
But sometimes love is a funny thing,
it’s a joke that no one gets,
it’s ironic, it’s painful.
And though I don’t want to admit it
I still love you,
even after all the pain,
even though you’re miles away.
Even though I know I don’t deserve to.