It was just three weeks, I try to reassure
But I’ve stretched it on for so long
That now, five years later,
Every place I go to, every new person who smiles
Reminds me of you,
And I grow old at the thought
Of new friendships.
The laundry bag is empty
Today I washed the clothes I wore
Last Thursday, and changed my sheets
From black to a bright yellow
Desperate to clean, to be clean.
But the trenches around my eyes deepen
No amount of frantic scrubbing
Removes memories of yet another pair
Of probing fingers.
A new bout of insomnia, a fresh dose of sadness
When will these cycles stop turning?
When I am so wrinkled that
Hands turn helpful to guide my step?