Author Information
6:37
We tucked the sun in beneath hazy pillows;
we chose dusk, because afternoons are never romantic,
and it was 6:37 for hours that night.
It always rains when you don’t want it to,
but the moisture softened the tree bark
so you could carve me in.
I traced over the outline of my name,
with my fingertips barely grazing the grooves.
If I had known you didn’t really love me,
I wouldn’t have let you leave such a permanent mark.
“How did it feel
to be so high on such false pretenses?”
I didn’t find astonishment in your eyes,
but I’m sure it was written all over my face.
You had told me that rings burned your fingers,
and I had believed you.
Was it really only yesterday
that you left me smelling musky and of wet grass?
“Isn’t it a little hard
to leave something you were never with?”
I would have been lying
if I told you I didn’t miss you, but
it was really only 6:37 for a few short seconds.
And it’s even more difficult to let go
of something you never possessed.
