Anonymous 🌍

Anonymous 🌍

She puts up a story
on Instagram
a guy stands,
holding her cell phone
and her hand.
And I picture myself
asking her,
questions,
sitting under the plum tree,
her favorite place
in all of seasons.
I rest my head
on her shoulder
and she slumbers
her head on mine.
She traces a plumstone
along my jaw, and bites
into another,
the drops of plum juice
stick to her fingers
and onto her hair that
fall on her eyes.

I ask her,
"Could 'We' have been forever?"
She smiles,
flicks the stone
in her hand,
and looks into my eyes
not for a second,
no more longer
and there,
I have my answer,
in her eyes.

I ask her,
"Did I ever, move on
from you?
Did I ever, want to
move on from you?"
She smiles,
strokes my hair
over my ears,
and looks into my eyes
not for a second,
no more longer
and there,
I have my answer,
in her eyes.

And then,
I ask myself
"Why do I keep coming back to,
a house that never was home?
Why do I keep coming back to,
a place where in autumn,
she shed the leaves of her lies?
Why do I keep coming back to,
a place, where I am
oblivious to the obvious?" And I see her
standing with a guy
with her hand
in his,
in a picture.
And that second
feels colder;
colder than a
bucket of ice.
She smiles, in that
photograph, and I think
she looks into my eyes
not for a second,
no more longer
and there,
I have my answer,
in her eyes.