For the one hundred and thirthieth day,

could you have ever guessed this,
that you'd be here, i'd be there,
yet we would be apart?
what's left of what we were is hidden by what we are.
these predicaments tied too many knots in our string,
we are so distant, so far.
you're parallel to the place i reside.
we've transitioned:
from the autumn skies that bred warmer fingertips,
to the brisk winter air that set our steps in a standstill;
transformed.
into the two people we never knew could be found.
they've surfaced from under our nerves,
from behind the doors we kept locked,
even from beneath our facades.
because somewhere along all these days of waking up to the sun,
and falling asleep to words never spoken,
something slipped;
like the cloth on a perfectly set table.
nothing shattered,
everything stayed intact,
yet the backbone was gone,
and all we are left with are pieces that will always be missing something.
but will that something always be missed?
can we make up for the clouds we didn't see fly by?
can we find more snowflakes to watch fall from the sky?
maybe not,
because maybe i've wronged us, this, you, and i
in ways that no glue can bring back together.
i have mistaken myself to be someone i believed had left and wouldn't return.
i've become more displaced than this poem could ever be.
confusion has never been so revealing,
never made such sense.
the butterflies are caught in my throat,
the words sit in my gut.
but i'll swallow the thoughts i've been choking on,
and spit them out to you.
i've lost.
i've lost this battle,
but mostly you.
and in essence, i've lost myself.
because you have opened the doors i didn't possess keys to.
because you have given me new eyes to see the world through.
but i've never reciprocated that,
and i'm here to let you know,
that i now know it.
i now see it.
i've never been there for you,
i've never been all that i ever aspired to be, for you.
so take away another three points,
and i've lost,
in the worst way possible.
i've lost,
and i never saw this coming.