…yet, I want this to be brilliant;
I want to wake up tomorrow
or a lifetime from now,
and disbelieve it ever happened-
that kind of brilliant.
It’ll be a quiet shift of floorboards,
settling under the weight of footsteps,
as I tiptoe my way out of here.
You won’t hear me leave,
or try to stop me
as I glide through the getaway filth,
navigating noxious words we emit
at the end, mostly the ambivalent ones,
that translate into a slow falling out of love.
And when the tears come, I’ll learn
that if I blink fast enough, the passing moments
record in still frames,
like a metamorphic montage-
where escaping becomes embarking,
where reflections become indistinguishable,
where bared teeth are a smile or a grimace,
depending on interpretation-
and don’t we all find that comforting?