the art of loving you

forty five.

she's waiting for me when i leave.

there's a question.

a tear.

a pair of warm arms wrapped around me.

i reek of stardust and regret.

she whispers, "i hate how she breaks your heart."

i reply, "i hate how i let her."

she and i stand there as lightyears shoot by.

her warmth and silence hold me together.

i do not wish to leave.

and when she mumbles, "let's go home,"

my heart clenches as it soars.

"okay."

and the cycle starts all over.