last night I went to that concert and they played that one song I listened to when I was falling in love with him. all of the memories with him are burned into the notes of that song, you know? but it ended all messy, fiery, like Rome burning to the ground.
sometimes I think the poet’s job is to separate each and every feeling splice by splice, like I should enjoy the happy moments for what they were, right? other times I bury the thought and think I’m happy to be falling asleep next to you.
© Alexandra Jema
