Active Burial

I walk on cement barefoot, tiptoeing on the gravel, feeling the sharp pokes and distinct pierces that echo a pattern

I feel lovely today

But it’s hard knowing we haven’t talked

and imagining what I could say to you or write to you that would make either of us feel closure or connection or completion

Maybe I can say nothing

Maybe I should escape into the weak path of avoidance, where you never call me and I never have to respond

I know you though

And you would never call me

You would never have to hear the inflection in my voice or listen to the transmission of my soul

You would use some cold form of technology that seems to be linked to your heart anyways to communicate, isolated, in code

We would never have to do this

I could remember the wonderful things about you

and appreciate you

and love you from a distance

Always wishing that it could have gone differently and knowing like the level of the water against the docks, that it changes every year

I can’t forgive your detachment

Like you can’t forgive my infidelity

We can never seem to forgive each other

We bury our emotions alive, forgoing any possibility of resurrection

It’s the most efficient way of murder

 

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