Month: March 2019


I’ve gotten pretty good at crying

and driving.


Somehow walking out the door

after you walk in

doesn’t get any easier.

I’m angry, and it surprises me.

I’m never angry.

But still, I’m not angry

at you.

I would never have left you the way

you left me–

but you thought we were impossible.

I would go through any pain for you. Die for you. Do

anything to reach you.

You–wouldn’t. But I don’t think it’s because

you decided I wasn’t enough–I just think you didn’t

know how.

I am angry. Not at you.

Just hurting.

Because I love you.

And it hurts you too much

to look at me.


Here’s the trick to crying and driving–

you pretend it’s blurry because it’s raining

because it always is.

to the day

two years ago.

two years ago, to the day.

we climbed on two vans on a misty morning

and drove for the mountains.

it was cold. in the backseat I laid my head

on your shoulder. I was happy.

that night, we sat on the creaky steps surrounded

by handprints, red and yellow and blue, cradled steaming

mugs of tea and whispered as the rest settled into sleep

stacked into bunks and sprawled on mattresses.

we were happy just to be with each other, to sit and breathe

and be and know we were wanted by someone that mattered.

we asked important questions in the quiet. we would ask even more

important questions later. we would cross terrifying, beautiful

lines that could not be uncrossed.

by the end of the week, I knew that I loved you.

to be honest, I knew long before then.

two years ago.

two years ago, to the day.

I love you still.

© 2021 Ashley Wilda

Theme by Anders NorenUp ↑