Retrograde

I was myself again.
Unchained,
detached,
and released from your arms.
No longer was
it you that possessed 
my heart.

The desire 
to chase you
vanished somewhere
in the booze,
and number
of men I slept with.

But then I saw you 
at the party with her,
clinging and kissing
right before my eyes.

Like a mirror dangling
from a single thread,
I needed the view
to shatter into a million pieces.

I wanted nothing more than to 
dissolve inside my drink,
and fade into the clouds. 
I couldn’t be the 
one breaking. 
Not again.

The scary part about this
wasn’t the rush of nostalgia
or the fact I felt his concrete eyes
following me all night.
It was me.
Feeling the urge 
to dive into 
his lips,
melt inside his arms
and give him my 
heart for the 
hundredth time.

It was the thought of moving backwards that fucking scared me.

One clap, two clap, three clap, forty?

By clapping more or less, you can signal to us which stories really stand out.