sewn.

I tried to sew us together
with pillow talk and Tuesday date nights –

a twine, twisting around our half-empty hearts
like a boa strangling its prey.

It began with a sidelong glance,
a quick white lie settling on the edge of my tongue,

and you, wrapped in the enigmatic smile
she wore that day in the office.

You tried to glue us together
with our ancient conversations –

adhering us weakly to long-broken promises
that we strived to forget.

It was clear from the repeated arguments
about your ugly comforter,
too small, too patched, too thin,

how much I'd grown to hate your love.

Together we chipped away
at the foundation laid years ago,

when I confessed "I love you!"
that hot, windy night in Aruba.

I could see it: the look of terror

when you lied and said you love me too -
a look you didn’t think I saw then,
one you still sometimes wear.

And I know the days we live
are drifting us farther apart –

wedging themselves in the cracks
we’ve made with each biting word.

It tightens, the fraying tether that binds us,
as we stretch further and further,
and although we know it will someday break,

we hold on to each other for now.