I think the thought that really gets to me

is to think about winter time

and walking down the city roads

at 9pm

where there are snow flurries

light enough that they’re swaying with the wind

but heavy enough to land on your tongue.

We’re wearing hoodies with jackets above them

and a scarf to tie it all in.

I can see the reflection of the street lights

shining in your eyes

and your smile coming out with your laughter.

You’re wearing a HUF beanie and

soft white gloves.

I can feel the texture of them as you grasp your hand in mine.

It’s getting colder as we speak

but we keep walking closer and closer

until eventually we find a coffee shop

and i can taste the whip cream

that’s sitting on top of the hot cocoa

that is now laced on your upper lip.

I can feel my hand rubbing your arm

trying to warm you up

and bringing you into a hug,

like the old times where i’d grab you in bed

and bring you right on in.

I can feel you.

but i can’t hear you.

Have you ever screamed so loud

but you can’t feel anything?

As if you’re trying to project the sound

but nothing is coming out?

How about when you’re writing?

Your hands are cramping

but the words don’t seem to come out fast enough.

That’s what it feels like with you.

I’m trapped in the space between never and again.

The space where the sentence is almost done

but not quite there.

Where you don’t know if there’s more or less coming

or if there’s more to a story.

Almost like a semicolon,

you don’t end the sentence there, but rather continue it on.

I’m stuck in the story where I think

there’s more to our chapter

and that you’ll come back,

that this is just like old times.

But just like the sentence “never again”

it ends right there.

After again.

again.

and again.

I’m stuck in the space between never and again

and I keep telling myself

“never again will I let them in”

“never again will I love them again”

“never again will I allow this to happen”

thinking that one day I’ll get stuck in another word,

another space.

But there’s nothing there. nothing more.

I’m stuck in the space too scared to end the sentence

because I know in reality that this is it

and once I move on then that’ll be the end of our chapter.

We’re back at the coffee shop

and you’re smiling at me.

My hand is resting on your leg

and I let go.

You look at me and smile

and say those last words to me again.

The words you used with me when you first wanted

to hold my hand

Fast. Like a bandaid.

And before I know it,

it’s just me sitting alone at the coffee house

at 9pm

again.

Where I’d always wait for you to come back

again.

I get up. Leave.

End the sentence there.

End the chapter there.

Never.

Aga.