NaPoWriMo, Day 30

Years from now, when the dust of us has settled
and the waves have calmed to a passive crawl,
I’ll look back and see only the light
reaching through the cracks that broke us:
the music, the winter, the long nights in,
the way my skin fit your skin and your limbs fit my limbs,
your boyish grin after those first few kisses,
those nights we rocked quietly on the patio,
under the moonlight, stripped down from the waist,
the promises you meant to keep but didn’t—
because I need those shards of my heart
to keep sticking into my lungs,
to keep me from falling back and getting lost
in tangled strings of I-love-yous,
all those fitful what-if-what-if-what-ifs.

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