cast away

next week, i am holding auditions to fill the spot you left.

in search of:

a man who would propose the night before prom

and hit the road two days later.

a man who loves his freedom

to beat his rhythm on the road

and the ones he loves.

a beast in bed and a giant in gentile mannerisms

a solipsistic selfish ego

who would rather stroke himself to sleep

than sacrifice his dreams for love

of anything other than his country.

this man was all you

and none of you, at once

he was all the catharsis and none of the conscious

he was all the action and none of the forethought

he was all the soldier and none of the fighter.

but you were just as lost as he

and i just as lost in you

as she

and you left

to find yourself

or greater

meaning

or something, anything else

and for all of the moves i make on a daily basis

i couldn't choreograph the tide that would pull you towards the horizon

the haze where you would blur into the atmosphere

leaving only fog and perspective

no lines culminating at an origin

no beginnings

just the end.

and

if i asked you, you would say you left for me

to save me

from myself when i was with you.

that it was for the best.

but

somehow when you didn't look back

once you stepped on that train

that would take you away

i knew

i knew that that would be the last time i would see you

that i would interlace my fingers in the small of your back

that i would nuzzle my forehead into your sternum

that you would exhale in my ear

that you would run the backs of your knuckles along my cheekbone

that i would smell your cologne mixed in your sweat

that you would pierce me

with your eyes first and your body later

that your fingers would trace the outline of our trauma on my torso

that you would hold me through the night

i knew

because it was the same look you gave me that night in Barcelona

the day you put me on a bus to Charles de Gaulle

the night you drove your Civic away from the back of French House

the day in the psychologists office

the time you stood in your Santa undies in my loft

when i came home to toothpaste residue where your brush used to be

i got used to you looking at me like you were never going to see me again.

but even that got old

and though i knew, there was nothing i could do.