2:17 a.m. (Macy Portela, Part Two)
Pivoting Right: An Unrequited Love Story, Part XXVIII
I
We were always an illusion,
Macy, my sweet delusion.
I see it all now.
And oh but how.
Just a few seconds more of
That embrace,
My naked arm around your shoulder,
Looking at each other for one moment
(Longer):
You in your black beanie,
A hint of red creeping out
Beneath the rim,
Me not thinking of her—
You not thinking of him.
Our last real second together.
II
I would have been satisfied.
I would have been satisfied to continue the charade—
Continue the charade I had constructed,
The fantasy continuing, unobstructed.
(The three of us.)
To us, I was never a threat.
Mace Mace—just the two of us—
Never a regret,
The butt of a joke I should have deducted.
III
One last question: was that last call for me
Or was the final scene for someone else;
Was all that love for you only for pretending
Or was it just a moment you were lending?
Your twists and your pretzel logic bendings:
Blurred beginnings arise from precise endings.
I just wanted to make it last for one last second—
A moment before the unconditional had conditions
(but)
Things you once handled you could no longer handle—
Our one a.m. endings got out of hand.
You broke up the band.
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