sure as death

I gave you an invitation. I knew you wouldn't come. I knew we were past that.

I gave it to you in quiet desperation, trying to tell you that I was alright with you. But I know you're not alright with me.

*

I have written you letters and tried to speak to you and even made eye contact (which you shrug off as easily as you did me). I have told you time and again "I'm sorry" and never known what I was apologizing for, just trying to crack you open like an egg, gently, reverently. I want to see what is inside of you, barricaded behind your cool granite eyes and in your iambic brain.

*

I used to watch you, and you used to watch me. We would orbit like moons around each other, gravity pulling us surely as death.

I think I broke free before you did.

Now I wander the cold universe. The stars are distant and do not flicker. I find hollow solace in my dust and rocks and shadows.

*

I gave you an invitation, giving you me back, if only you would accept.

You didn't come, but I was expecting that.

I've done what I can. The rest is up to you.