I prefer sketches of you.
They let me live in the negative space
Near creased corners.
Your expression cannot change
From brave to faint
when left as coal on a page.
I remember the first time you wore that dress.
It covered you and the air in equal portions,
Losing itself in the waves of shaded hair
And unknown sources.
Each subtlety in the way you moved reminded me
Why children believe wind can whisper
And shadows devour.
That dress doesn’t fit now.
Time gave you a new understanding of the word brittle.
Hour and hour and hour drew past towards our last decent moment when you said I need you and I said I don’t and I said I can’t mask how empty I am anymore than you can pretend you aren’t made of glass and you started to crumble and crack in ways I hadn’t thought possible.
You shattered in front of me,
Fragments sliced my skin.
I felt no pain before or during,
Only after your ruin.
I avoid seeing you now
Because you will shatter again.
That is why I prefer sketches of you.
That is why I collect sketches of you.
That is why I talk at sketches of you.