do you remember in english class
how we learned that there’s such a thing
as an unreliable narrator?
well here i am, ready to talk to you.
–
this paper, these words, are my haven.
there’s no other way for me to capture love,
no other way for me to capture grief,
but to write, one letter and one word at a time.
–
but how different must our loves be!
the way i write can’t be how you feel.
there’s a beautiful continuity in human emotion
and a tragic disconnect between yours and mine.
–
i could write about storms or love.
(they’re the same, in the end)
but no matter how much of me i pour out,
it can never bridge the gap between us alone.
–
yet here i am, writing again,
telling a story of yet another pain
through a delusional, unreliable lens
in the hopes i can look back on us and understand.