I spoke too soon, it seems, For you made a home in my dreams. While I slept you kept running yourself through my head, Like, “I won’t be dead yet.” I said, “You don’t understand. We had no control. They stole it; love’s been so unfair to me.” “But see, boy, that’s my point. You must move on.”
Then felt her ghost move in me. I heard her voice call out my name but This time it faded out—away. “I’ll bury it today.” Today.
So I breathed her name out into a cold, cold room, Watched her ghost ascend the walls and then dissolve, “This time I choose to let it go.”
“This time I choose to let her go. I will not let my fear become the only world I’ve ever known. I know my heart, kiss my mouth, set me free—I’ve wounds to mend. And we’ll be more than friends, my dear; I fear I’ve changed my mind again.”
“But, boy, you’re too late. Oh, God, it’s too late.”