jump back. jump back. rewind.

jump back. jump back. rewind. back to that part. right there. when i was new. and you weren't angry. with our simple unknowing smiles. your head tossed back. my hips around a beat. funny shoes. and wild hair. that room spun until it was empty. i didn't know anyone else was there until it was time to drive home. ink in your palm. ten numbers strung together to equal a voice on the other end. jump back. jump back. rewind. back to that part two. right there. two stools. two voices. face to face. that bar spun until it was empty. i didn't know anyone else was there until it was time to walk home. jump back. jump back. rewind. back to that part three. right there. ten digits had failed to equal a voice on the other end for too long. new year. not a new you. i saw you from across the room and swore then and there i could find your eyes in the dark. i was proud to know you in a room littered with strangers. i could feel your beats in my chest. that venue spun until it was empty. i didn't know anyone else was there until it was time to go home. you came with. and hugged me like you meant it. despite all the silence.

then it happened.

the split.

that part i'd take back.

that part that's made everything since then so muddled. like looking at something beautiful through broken glass. i'd apparently brought back a christmas package full of fear. and i opened it in my house. you stayed when no one else would have. i sat inside my unpacked suitcase. fourty nine across. four letter word for jail on the high seas. i took a polaroid of myself to see if i was still me. i'm surprised it didn't develop with the word 'liar' tattooed across my forehead.

and now i'm sitting here trying so hard to wrap my head around the two and half months since. around the last four days. and i can't. the glass is even more broken now. parts of it are ground as fine as sand by the passage of time and tears. and i wish more than anything i could take it back. not all the good, the bad, or the akward. not your laughter. just the parts where my pride had me in a chokehold. just the part where i lied. just the part where i became someone other than me while you were sleeping.

waiting is painful. forgetting is painful. but not knowing which to do is the worst kind of suffering.