Two White Pages

While I sit here, rereading the pages of last year,

Repeating lines I wish I didn’t have to hear,

The light buzzes above me, accusing me of lies,

And I’m not sure what stopped me from sure demise.

A papercut stings my palm, making me pause.

A dramatic ending, but I don’t hear the applause.

Two white pages stick together like new lovers.

Do I separate the pair, or can they be without each other?

The title of the story rings a bell, and I jump.

Dear reader, I wish I could say the night was young,

Or that the streets were empty, or that I was freezing…

There wasn’t an excuse; there wasn’t a reason.

Vivid words on the page describe how you touched me.

I didn’t protest or try to end it abruptly.

There’s no use in trying to recall your sweet breath.

Your touch haunts my body like gilded regret.

The lines we crossed bit us as soon as it ended.

Who did you think you knew and befriended?

Why did I leave, and how did that make you feel?

No answers come, even when I pray and kneel.

While I sit here, rereading the pages of that night,

Reheating cold memories that wiggle and bite,

I know they kept me intact with their sharp spikes,

But, dear reader, I still wish that he were mine.

-Jackie