a few of my female friends,
who have heard the stories,
encourage me to reach out.
call her, they say.
tell her you love her, they say.
they don't know
that she just doesn't love me, I say,
plain and simple.
it's not like the movies –
grand gestures of love
to win back a person lost
to time and major mistakes.
I don't drink my sorrows anymore;
I sit in the them, feel them like warm water.
this is life and it is washing away
every single day.
looking down at my legs,
confident because while it still stings,
it doesn't hurt as hard,
and I can run, too,
I just choose not to.
before you die,
experience the love of a writer;
if you're lucky to be an artist's borrowed muse,
they will immortalize you.