The Fault Was Mine

The fault was mine
you never said so much
carefully treading our finger tip touch.
For a while there it felt like remission
hard work and perseverance
paid price of admission
Isn’t that how the story goes?
But no
that summer was a sucker-hole
a moment
when I was high and you were low

And when my health
getting better
and then got worse again
I held on to the hope
–increasingly fantastic–
that there could be a place for me
at your table.
By then so used to luke warm
I forgot how much my shrunken stomach deviates from the norm.
By then so used to looking up from below
I believed your maybe later was much more than a Seattle no.

Thank you
for your friendship.
You have shown me beautiful places
outside my comfort zone
and above my station.
Thank you
for your generosity
all the research and repairs you’ve done for me.
I have grown a great deal
in the shelter of your patronage.
But I blew the chance of lasting friendship with that first kiss
the fault is mine
and if I could go back in time I would turn away my hungry lips
and say, “we should start heading back”
to the safety of the platonic path
if I could’ve seen beyond the bend
and known that mine goes up and down while yours goes down and up again

* * * * *

I’ve been living off the tepid leftovers of friendship for eight long fucking years
and I want
so badly
to get inside that door
but my weak knocks were ignored
and now I’ve had that door casually closed in my face
without a moments thought
without a glance behind
one too many times
to try

I’m left with all these words
pages covered in notes
my only currency
worse than counterfeit
without a stable state behind it
reduced to pure art
busking for friends
in the parking lot

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