post aftermath rumination (1)

It was never
a matter
of capacity,
as it was about desire.
Every day, I remind myself that you just don’t want me.
I repeat it endlessly,
standing strong on the foundation of your indecision,
created from your mixture of muddled definitions
(friends, more than friends, less than lovers, casual, buzzwords, you mean something to me, I don’t think it’s a good idea, friends, friends, this is what friendship is),
until all of us believe what we need to believe.

Because, babe, I know enough about mantras
more than the bird that chirps in to your ear.
I could teach the bird a thing or two
about the things it fears,
because these things reside in me.
And this is why it fears me.
And why it composes offbeat songs about me.

But it doesn’t matter
for I will sing with the bird.
You can join, if you want (as your favorite disclaimer goes),
in humming our bland lullaby
until it gets sweeter,
until it doesn’t matter,
until both of us
can sleep
soundly
at night
between the deliberate pauses of our flight and fight.

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