You counted every blossom
And taught me the word embower.
You liked the cinerarias, I the clivia.
I’m not surprised, so fiery, you said
With a wink, a nudge, your thumb
Sewed between my shaking knuckles.
I pulled leaves along the wall, unsure
If I could laugh, could bask in your breath
And maybe slow my own.
You pointed, and recited some fact
About the nasturtium I couldn’t hear,
Still shaded in rage — the nerve,
When she asked me, my hand in yours,
Which one of you is the stamen? —
Still wondering if you were ashamed
I’m a Medium writer, but not like you. People literally stop me on the street to ask me how I became a success story. Unlike you, my claps don’t come from my mom, and it astounds me how much you don’t get it. Being successful on Medium is without a doubt the easiest thing I’ve ever done. So take my advice and follow these steps if you want people to publish your “work.”
You know what I write about? Success. Determination. The art of YOLO. I’m not sitting around and typing away about nothing. I do something literally every day…
I am the midnight rage of finding you in my dreams, and I am the morning dread of leaving you there.
I am the promise to my bathroom mirror that I won’t break down. I am the severing of that promise by noon.
I am the shooting pain in my knee after one mile too many. I am the tooth marks in my hand that fought back tears.
I am abrupt, one-word answers that scuttle conversation. I am the coffee I buy my friends to show them I’m sorry, because I can’t outright say it without mentioning your name.
I have forgotten the pain of heartbreak long enough for it to feel like the first time. I can’t eat without the nausea of dead butterflies rotting in my stomach. I don’t have the stamina to lift my head, only enough for restless nights and endless thoughts. God forbid I should go a day without crying in empty conference rooms or on dimly-lit streets. This pain is implacable against everything but time. I know that, and I am watching as the seconds linger.
You were the first man whose hand I held in the street. Will you remember that night?