He liked to send me stars.

Check your mailbox, he would say.

I left a star for you.

I breathe out wispy cottony clouds of silvery mist borne from the depths of my lungs warmed by the thump thumping of my pound pounding heart. You are an angry spectator. You are a sheltered moth. The wind has sliced my face raw. There should be more than this but there isn’t.

Not until you have bled your own eyes dry.

We were here first. Before the race and the rivalry. Before there was anything but what was real. Before you ever knew what you stood for, before you could even understand.

It doesn’t mean anything.

It will always be this way.

But only you that I’ll catch.

This city has a pulse
These faces, all their stories
All the many hidden places
Do you ever stop to wonder
Where they’ve come from
Where they’re headed?

I am a stranger passing through.

We leave not-so-subtle clues in public places. We do stupid things then hide the evidence so it may be easily found. We hurt we hurt we hurt.

We want them to notice when there is something wrong.

We try so hard and when they do,

we lie and say we’re fine.

Mood swings and
unsaid things, a
tired song sung
too many times.