the layers of my skin don’t fold and tear

when I come across a photo of yours

as my eyes remind me

the years spent are now a scattered memory

and I realize I don’t want someone new

to be a part of the same cycle

where a stranger becomes a friend

becomes a lover and a stranger again

and all I’ll hold at night

is the regret that I ever tried

that I put down my wall for once

that I shared too much

that every feeling I planted into your soul

doesn’t belong to me anymore

and is gone with your presence

with the pain I clutch in front of the TV screen

at 1 a.m. on the couch feeding my pathetic heart

my loneliness that consoles me with darkness

and laughs at me in early mornings

when I wake up to an extra pillow beside me

when I sit at a table for one

when I walk on the streets with cold hands

glued to my empty pockets

missing the fingers that would provide warmth,

still waiting for that blue light on my phone to blink

to prove I still have a reason to be this attached.

Maryam Khamesi is a Chapman University MFA student who enjoys writing lyrics, poems, and short stories.

Featured Image: “324/365 – Light” by Stuart Chalmers is licensed under CC BY-ND 2.0