nine nights

nine nights scrunched up on sofas, late nights & late mornings, 

or sometimes early afternoons: i hid from so much daylight.

i pretended it was earned, that at nighttime i was living, but it was just moving,

and talking and laughing longer than all the jokes required, and drinking.

you rushed into my head midway & wouldn’t leave,

i saw the back of little ghostly yous in the bottom of every tumbler,

a white blur fading into crowds. somewhere the anger had subsided

and i couldn’t get the warmth of your hands out of my head.

near the end of us, you would barely let me hold them & one night,

while watching films, we sat so close & it felt so normal for a change,

& i reached for your hand and you gripped mine tight in reply.

it seemed so novel, i took a picture. i think i knew then, i’m pretty sure i knew for a long time,

that you were just too scared to leave, too anxious of the unknown without me.

even though it was you that didn’t want me, you waited until i was so unbearably miserable,

that i had to be brave & put the words in your mouth.

 the next morning, you had the audacity to say,

“isn’t there a part of you that feels relief today too?”

and i said no.