memory breathes.

it comes in cycles

i inhale

that afternoon light. the last day i saw you

golden, it sliced through the slats in your blinds

my birthday chocolates untouched on the bed,

a cigarette shared, now ash on your windowsill

those honest eyes that said it all

that you were scared to break me.

memory breathes and i exhale

time increasing between our messages

unfurling into distance like a ribbon or a winding road

i counted the days like tracking sobreity

memory breathes

and k can’t remember when i stopped tracking

when the sting of conversations never finished

become softened like glass by the sea

memory breathes

but we hold in what we don’t want to forget

and the pressure builds until our airways are tense

and what could have been becomes unspeakable

so we translate it into language that shelters the truth

and what was once there in every breath

in gasps of air between laughter

and later

in ragged sobs into pillowcases

now comes in sputters

or floats away

and hangs in the air before my lips

the bonds are broken, it is no longer my oxygen

it can no longer sustain me

memory breathes

until it doesn’t