it's Monday, i'm unwriting you -


each
paragraph from flesh and syllables
exchange of words and breath and moments
scribed memento(s) - scrawled so beautifully together
prose worth publishing.

caught in your plot points –

couldn't
put your book down
stop at the end of ACT II.
put the breaks on,
unbind your leather from my ink
unread those promises and precarious arguments over bagels and eggs and whether
< carbs are really ruining America.

it all seems so trivial now.
but it wasn't all James Patterson.

i listen
to your voice inside my head as i unpencil
last wordslastriteslastthankyouslaslgoodbyeslastreconigitions of how
it's neither of our faults and yet
the story ended without clear closure or
character development.

i listen
your tone even though we're not speaking;
reading through your last message of, "i care and wonder how you are."

i hear
the hitch in your breath again, in those dark nights where i filled in your gaps; connecting the twists in
each one of your stories.

impregnated with the climax that
this could be the one that binds all my pages together.

But it's Monday, and I'm unwriting you.

putting down our saga
to read the Post instead.

09/07/2015

Author's Note: Okay so after taking an editing run on it, I decided to post both versions. Please feel free to shred.

Posted on 09/07/2015
Copyright © 2024 Rachelle Howe