by Riley O’Connell ’15

I was never really yours, darling.
Even when we blanketed ourselves in ebony sorrow in my basement
with only the needle buzz of cool heroin voices on the television
to keep our riddled minds from choking on empty air.
Even when I let my head disappear in the crook of your neck,
and my heart into the well-worn creases of your hands.
Even when your fingers fell in line with mine,
and my dizzying exhalations with yours.
Even when we let the nighttime steal our nothings
and offered up our everythings for mourning.
Even when we were morning,
when you were my great cheese moon,
somehow always in the forefront of my mind
even when you had no place being there at all,
especially then.
Even when you were my religion
and I was your hangover.
Even when I gave you the spare key to my mind,
even when you opened me up
and let all of me pour out,
unafraid of the stains I might leave;
even when I was terrified I would run out.
Even when I thought I should run out.
Memories of you fought me like
a child staring at the sun;
because every time I blink,
you are still all I see.
All along, we were never meant for each other,
darling,
because I loved you more than anything,
and you don’t love anything
at all.