We have become something bones can not hold,
A child sleeping in the crook of her fathers arm,
Memories dripping down our splintered limbs, our skin a puddle at our feet
You were always something too far away for me to reach.
Even as I slept in the crook of your arm,
You were so far.
Even as I could feel your heart beat against my cheek
I could not hear it.

Silence became my biggest memory of you,
The pile of words you forgot to say sitting beneath the staircase next to me
Waiting, for the silence of your footsteps that never came home.
Raspy voices slip around the hallway, quickly I purse my lips and swallow hard. Around you I’ve had to cut out my tongue. Trade it in for a new one. These puzzle piece mouths no longer seem to fit into each other. The sun touched the square of my shoulders and I brushed her hand away like a spider. My skin has yet to be touched by anyone but you.
Around you I’ve had to change my ways. Become something softer, something lighter—Something less of what I am. You broke me in the same way you filled me. You broke me in a way I’ve had to learn about silence. You broke me in a way I had to become it. You wrecked me
I am grateful for your wreckage.


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