4 years, 3 months, and 28 days later

It has been 4 years,
3 months,
and 28 days
since my big bossy hips 
danced upon your pelvis –
for the first time.
I thought it would be the only time,
perhaps the last time,
but we ended up banking weeks of love making
if we added up all the hours. 

I forced my chest into your palms,
and your cherry blossom satin lips
pressed like thumb tacs into my neck.
I know in the beginning, 
you couldn’t believe I gave you the time of day. 

Now, 4 years, 3 months, and 28 days later,
I can’t believe you fell out of love with me. 

I remember being bundled up
like a giant fuzzy cocoon
under swarms of stars
on the little grassy field we called our own.
We held each other so tightly, 
I felt like our bodies had melted together,
that we were stitched at the seams,
our hearts burning as one. 

I remember believing:
I love you
I’ve never loved you more than I do now
I will love you in 5 minutes
I will love you tomorrow
In a week
In 83 days
A year
5 years
A decade
When my skin has age spots
and when I forget where I went to elementary school
I will love you until the end of time
I thought. 

There was nothing you could have ever done
to lose my love. 

Today I found one of your beard hairs
in the binding of Ulysses.
It was on the page of the last chapter – “Penelope,”
seared perfectly where Molly Bloom has her orgasm,
where she realizes she loves her husband
more than her life.
I close my eyes
and all the world drops dead.
All that is left is the clean, damp smell
your cheeks used to carry
before you went to sleep. 

It has been 4 years, 3 months, and 28 days
since I met the man I thought I’d grow old with. 

Sometimes when I walk alone down city streets,
my eyes turn to dry, calloused almonds
and tears pile up in the corners
from bulldozers of despair.
My irises raise to the heavens,
and I ask the clouds why you left me.

I know not why,
but I do know, although my body wants me to hate you,
I could never.
And I still think about you all the time,
when my body is smeared between my
jersey cotton sheets.
Subconsciously I can smell you,
I can feel your arms,
and taste your skin. 

And I miss you.
I wish I knew how things went wrong –
because I’ve been looking,
and I know I’ll never find another you.


About laurenfedorko

Aspiring writer. English teacher. Philosophy: know more about the world than you did yesterday and lessen the suffering of others.
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