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I birthed breath to grief I couldn't understand, that knew only authenticity as my melancholy hands, shook beneath the weight of something you had once entrusted me to hold. In growing old, I only long to be consoled.

But instead I have been left as just a vessel for my aches; a crooked spine that buckled once, but never thought to heal the break.

Now nostalgia comes home once a week, drunk and delusional, slurring her speech. She talks about trying again, slumped heavy on the frame of the door to the room where I wait.

I barely said a word at all,
scared to tell you how I felt.

Has my memory decayed? I don't remember falling into love and it kills me every day. I hope I never fucking hear your name again. Carry me, lifeless and afraid, back to our bed.

But truth be told it never felt like we were laying together sleeping. Only that my broken body had been crushed between your sheets, like dead flowers between the pages of a journal you never read any more, you just flick through it when you're bored. The only time you
ever call is to remind me of something that we never were.
Were we anything at all?

No Heaven without Hell beneath,
in misery without you and me.
Your memory won't let me sleep,
I never thought I'd be so weak.

Now lonely is as lonely was, no more than a memory. I can't deny it any more, our love is dead and buried. Senseless, I've been caring for the house that we called home.

Hell was loving you at all my dear,
because now I'm alone.