Words aren't enough, she knows, her touch inside his head
undoing every thread of who he is, the ties retraced with pencil, crayon
(the paper chains unglued reglued with every line and curve)
until she draws herself a space beneath his skin.
She won't be in his heart however much she says, I'm sorry
words can't make it all unhappen.
Instead she sits, and colors smudge her fingers (tears her cheeks)
she brings the paper chains down one by one:
flame-haired, a card in hand, stairs painted dancing fire
him and a sharpswing blur of petals, fighting (but some things she can't bear to draw)
him with a shadow, hollow, not his friend; she draws herself between their forms
still wanted, not alone.
Right now she's there, she's next to him; he knows her eyes, her smile
a night when stars fell down the sky, a promised sanctuary
it isn't real - she thinks, I'm sorry
(she knows words aren't enough.)
So through her hands she draws i'm sorry,
tears paper chains apart and scribbles blue, herself to sea
the memory sinks; she floats away to darkness past his mind
and somewhere here she's in his heart, held close in her apology.
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