The Late Valentine

I loved you.

I kept loving you until my eyes were swollen, with my fast-paced breathing and my constant beating heart beneath a sweaty shirt that smelled much like the lab you used to work in.

I loved you.

The way you’d cradle your cigarette around your finger nestled in your chair looking out at a silhouette of some shadow that was once your past.

I get that you no longer think about it and that all your pictures of me are ruined.

You shatter my heart as my door creaks open in the middle of the night as it opens to the soft pale moon.

Congratulations to me.

I am in the realm where you have painted the stars and the galaxies that have given birth to their flesh.

Once again I am somehow in your world.

I look up and wonder, if I could have had to paint like that I would have made sure that our stars were to cross in the pathways of a predestined fate.

I would have won and not her.

Still somewhere in my mind, I’m the one making love to you with tender sighs;

I’m the one who captured your eyes, who stole your heart, who fulfilled your destiny and sealed your fate.

Well, happy crappy Valentines’.

I am too late.

I have never believed in anything.

In anything this nihilistic world has to offer.

I’ve told you time and time again.

I dream of you in colors that don’t exist,

they come as you;

like electric lightning.

I have never believed in a God.

Yet there you stand….

so perfectly….