Autumn Air

Crisp leaves of golden brown,

and autumn air,

greeted me as I stepped out of the taxi

to wait for him at his favorite deli.

He arrived moments later.

Beneath trendy sunglasses

and a veil of carefully collected confidence,

were the soft eyes of the first man

I would ever truly adore.

His sideways smirk, tales of trauma,

broken heart, and desire for meaning,

engulfed me in an intense entanglement

that is impossible to ignore.

Not every story is told in black or white,

and at times ours was written in vivid neon colors,

but mostly in grays beneath solemn moonlight.

Butterflies scattered within my chest,

yet over time,

his soft eyes hardened to ice.

Trying my best,

I poured what I thought was water

over the flames of attachment,

only to discover it was gasoline.

Months later, I did what I do best to heal,

and I wrote our story.

Yet I couldn't help but recoil

from the gazes of kind men in a new city.

From the first moment I had seen his eyes,

when he'd removed those sunglasses

to reveal fleeting vulnerability,

my fate was determined.

This man could have sent me to my grave,

and my ghost would have defended him.

I loved the good man,

whose laughter once lifted my spirits,

whose dreams I encouraged and ached for,

who stroked my hair as he revealed remorse

for the strained relationship with his father.

And I loved the bad man

who used and abused me like a drug,

who barely spoke my name,

or tended to my pain;

who left me to ponder a full moon alone,

weeping as I turned the keys to start my car.

In that moment I'd finally realized

he had nothing but apathy

for my very existence.

And as time slowly and painfully passed,

I continued to harbor love

for the good and bad parts of him,

unable to shake the memories

like I had before of the other men.

And to think, this all started

on a chilly fall morning

over something as simple

as bacon, egg, and cheese.