I Don’t Think Of Us Like That Anymore

It was almost as if I belonged to you.
Tied up with lace and wrapped in a silk sheet,
I was yours to unfold and use.
And you, with your cold hands,
your distant chest, the resistance in your voice–
I hardly noticed it.
I only ever saw the slope of your body,
the ease of enveloping yourself in bed
with me, without ever having to fold.

I wanted us, so badly, to be real.
So I opened myself.
I let myself be willing
and I wore my heart on my sleeve
as if that was the only thing I knew how to do with you.

But I see it clearly now,
how we were just a figment of my imagination,
more or less.
We were two people, trying to make sense of things,
conflating with silent, tender desires.
More than anything,
we were longing for something.

I no longer think of you the way I used to.
I no longer think about what could have been,
and what sweet that relief that is. 

About the author

Brooklyn-based poet, writer, avid coffee drinker, and music lover.

Follow Kelly on Instagram or read more articles from Kelly on Thought Catalog. Learn more about Thought Catalog and our writers on our about page.