Ka-Thump, Ka-Thump

I think I'm relapsing again.

I see you everywhere,
in the smile of a passer-by
and the tilted head of a questioning child.

I hear your laughter,
the quiet boom that
sets my heart alight.


I don't understand.


I get sick to my stomach;
I have to look once,
                 twice,
                    thrice
just to be sure
that the boy by her side
isn't you.


I can't cope with the pressure.


I find myself
needing to constantly be
certain, completely,
that it's only my imagination
wanting me to hurt,
and not you enforcing the pain.


I never loved you.


So why,
why,
after a whole year,
a complete orbit
of precisely three hundred
and sixty-six days...


Why am I still hurting?


It's the way you would
walk onto the bus,
your insufferable swagger
as you viewed the sea
of faces
watching the Jack-ass take
up to two seats
when you could've
just as easily
stood those two stops.


Why am I still hurting?


It's the way you would
kiss me,
hands in hair and
reassuring me that
there was no one,
no force,
not one thing on this earth
that could part us in
that moment.


Why am I still hurting?


Maybe,
just maybe,
it's because we never
took the bus,
never kissed.

Maybe,
just maybe,
it's because you never
let me say goodbye.


Why am I still hurting?


But it's not you,
it's never been you and
it will never be you.

Because you're not the enemy -
you're the lover
and the fighter,
the source of my joy
and my tears.

You're the man
I wish you had been.


Why am I still hurting?


It's not you.

It's never been you.

It never will be.


S o   w h y   a m   I   s t i l l   h u r t i n g ?


I'm here,
and I'm to blame.