i think about the space you take up in me. before i opened my eyes this morning you were the first thing i saw. it hasn’t been that way in some time and i hate to think i am regressing. in this plateau of healing i hate to think i have experienced decline. that i am made up of more of you than i am of me. will i ever be clean? this reality has been fermented by the perpetuation of you and i reek of something exhausted. relying on contingencies that we may be. we cannot be whatsoever, yet i lack the mechanisms to accept and internalize your form of reality: where you do not love me as i have been loving you. and my pride pleads me to leave unceremoniously. this rent is too expensive i am crippling into poverty. leave before i become the casualty of this noncommital goodbye. still: i feel fated to repeat until death. listening back to the moments of paused conversation when it was love i could hear until it was the loss of love permeating that defeating silence and i pretended i couldn’t hear. i think about the intimacies of what it once was. the words borrowed from you. that consume my space now. 

we did not combust. there was no cataclysmic destruction of us. i cannot accept the fire unburned. 

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