Judging Books By Their Spine

you distance yourself

partially by accident, partially not

you can't connect to my newfound 

but very apparent happiness

can't relate

won't try

well I've been trying for years

to feel the way that I am finally pretending to be

but we all know that no professional success could ever come close to personal triumph 

what could make me more purposeful than you making my breakfast at dawn

saying Mollie, you won't be late

or the mornings you awoke before me

kiss my cheek, I roll over and you are gone

permenantly

I try to imagine where I'd be without this tragedy

the travesty of happiness

nothing much to compare this to

because no one can see

I spend each and every day

thinking of ways to fix that one thing that broke

if I had the chance to go back, would I manipulatively repair, or eradicate?

you wish to stay away from my happiness
while I haven't lived through an August I can remember where I didn't wish not to