it is spring now.
the children are running,
past the playground
and into each other.
you told me once that I’d look cute in a nightgown,
I thought it was a metaphor, of how
I so desperately wanted to hide my body
underneath the cover.
I watched how we drifted so easily into one another.
how we wore school uniforms during the fall,
but I am a cavity.
and so I rot everything I touch,
until all that is left are cobwebs
and memories from late last year.
why was I reluctant to wear someone as sad as me.
was I afraid of how it would taste,
that I knew someone like you?
or was I afraid of the feeling,
of longing for the cover.