Move On

We all carry baggage with us through life,
bringing to the table mismatched issues
to each new person we become involved with.

We have all loved and lost before,
we have had hearts broken.
Fights have erupted,
we have been the cheater and the cheated,
we all have moments that jar us out of the present
and slam us back into the past,
remembering what was then and how it's gone.

The journey forward starts with the separation of past and present,
realizing that memories and trinkets are what's left.
For some the journey is easier than others.
And I suppose you would fall into the latter category.

It's the little things
that give you away:
the nervous spasm of your left eyebrow,
the moment's hesitation at a perfunctory goodbye kiss
or the blank stare that says volumes.

You nearly flinch
when the nickname platitudes of relationships fall from my mouth;
an utterance I did not intend.

I guess you're gone,
I should have known
that you couldn't be kept here by desire.
I know you couldn't give me what I needed
but that doesn't mean I wanted you gone.
Someone next to you in the night is better than cool sheets
reminding you of the emptiness reflected in the mirror.

I'm vaguely aware of a minor cut across my left palm,
it's sweet burning sensation reminding me of its existence.
I close my fist in an attempt to retain the feeling;
the bittersweet sting of living.