thirteen minutes or less

The crinkling sound of unfolding paper
drives me more than insane; she used to
give me a note, every morning- each kiss
a gift, a letter for me to discover
when I awoke from the depths of slumber.
I possess a book full of her letters
but still I do not look, for fear
of my past tells me never to sneak a
peak at the treasure trove of my failures.
Once upon a time we shared wine at dinner
as we discussed the days trivial trials
and tribulations. Now, so much I see
has changed and not for the better.
It should have been clear to me you were
ready to leave long before you said goodbye.
Your handwriting on those post it size notes
began to get worse; compared to previous years.
Did you know, LaLa, I still set the table for two?
Just in hopes you'll return &. we'll complete a cliche.
Our relationship will be one of fairy tales and novels
galore; but I learned first hand there is no tomorrow.
Without a key I was locked inside a prisoners hell;
but no bars held me captive, just my mind as a cell.
Still today I am a sloth as I search for clues
as to where you could've gone, my beautiful little spy.
If I could rewind the clocks and calender pages, you'd see
how careful I plan each conversation; steer clear
from any sore topics; it'd be like picture perfect memories.
I starve for affection, now I lack any purpose or
direction for my affiliation with other people.
This longing inside clings to my chest, in my heart
is where those voices get stored; those kisses still hurt
when I recall it: I'm still here, lost in translation.
Could one kiss from a lady of virtue truly convert
me back into that heartsick child I was before she put
the mark of a lovers heretic on the crest of my chest?

-fake it <2