It’s sunny today.
It seems wrong
as if it ought to be
washed out skies
and rain,
an echo of
the empty space you
left when you
walked away into
red and blue lights.
It’s strange how much
can be bound into
those lights,
how great a change
the shift between
red and blue causes.
These lights bring
a tiger, unchained,
biting at the most
inopportune times,
slashing anyone
foolish enough
to come close,
drawing blood
and tears,
dripping from the tips
of noses while fists
clench empty air and
in desperation
maybe beat the floorboards
until one day
the tiger shrinks
into yellow butterflies
on shoulders,
so light as to be
nearly unnoticeable,
but never quite,
telling a story the same
way a scar does.
This is what I thought
last night when
the lights refused
to stop flashing,
cast a strange
purple glow on the
brown bricks outside and
stirred a panic deep
in my bones, as
my heart strained to pump
the ice my blood
had become.
Frozen to the very
center, I doubt
the thaw will
come anytime soon:
this was always
my greatest fear, and
I keep thinking I
must have seen you, and
did I smile
when we passed?
I should have.
Was my hold
too loose, to let
you slip through?
I walk these halls
now, and it’s
a ghost town,
saturated with
the moments
we missed, and
the ones we’ll
never have,
because you
are gone,
lost somewhere
within the red
and blue
flash-flash-flashing.
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