Saturday, December 22, 2012



When I knew you,
I knew you well.
I could trace your face
with my eyes closed;
I could sculpt your features
from memory.

I could hear your heart
beating and breaking
from miles away;
and I could still be there,
to monitor the rhythm.

You may not know this,
but it's what I miss most:
speaking with you.
Not in any particular way,
not obligatory or precise,
not skillfully crafted or designed,

but honest. Like friends
passing the popcorn during a movie,
whispering about what happens next,
or what should happen next,
or how everything is terrible,
or how he should go back to her

and say thank-you or sorry,
or I was never more me
than when I had you.
But things never work out
the way that one expects,
and words like that get stuck to the tongue.

I never intended to understand
everything; I only wish
to understand you
a little bit more.
And, in turn, be who I once was
when you understood me.



  1. This is beautiful, Emilith. Just Beautiful.

  2. Wow, Emily. That was really real. You need to keep writing!