this i am grateful for.

to be comfortable in one another’s skin.

yet my pouring heart was not enough.

and i wrote pages and pages

of you

shattered glass.

he lives in a glass house

but throws stones anyway.

and so she wrote.

she knew she had to let go.

she knew how to.

she just did not want to.

the between.

at war with my two selves.

and what of us.