I decided to take back my city—
monument by memory
street by destination. .
The fingertips I had dipped in love
and trailed over bridges
that I cross everyday,
are the pieces of me I wish I could
feed to the river.
Regeneration starts at the core
it’s said, but
I just want the little things
and I just want the little things
and I’m most only heartbroken
about the little things.
I want Sunday’s back.
I want that album that I can’t listen to anymore.
I want the whole of downtown.
I want Winter-time, and Summer-time, and evenings, and movie theatres, and that board game we played, and cooking tortellini, and birthday cards, and comedians, and every single thing that made you laugh.
The cars have driven over places of our story enough
that only I can recognize them.
Ground into pavement,
and dismissed by the simple fact that we didn’t get to call dibs on the pieces of us that left with each other. .
So I’m left looking out a window at a city that I have died in.
Wondering how many more times we’ll both witness
the death of each other,
before it, or I,