You and I

have history.

Are we a legend,

or did we merely

live out a

predetermined

sequence of events,

that resulted in

the sad story of us?

We’ve both had

our fair share

of slips

and

poor decisions.

Perhaps we will reunite

somewhere out there,

somewhere other than

this bitter-sweet earth.

But probably not.

When we danced

in that crummy kitchen,

it was transcendent.

Yes, transcendent

because

beautiful you

pulled me in so close.

So close, I was able to

breathe in all of you.

If I knew our

best moments

and random triumphs

were fleeting,

I would have cherished

them more than I did.

There were moments

I wish we could relive,

moments I wanted to

last forever.

And then there were others

I’ve spent a lifetime

wishing away.

I couldn’t keep quiet,

because the telling

kept me sane.

And yet the truth

did not

set me free.

Instead, it set

in motion

a roller coaster

of cruel denials.

Set in motion by not

one,

not two,

but three of you.

I cared not for

two and three.

Just the one.

I’m sorry,

I couldn’t change

the moments

that destroyed us.

As you know,

those moments

were in someone

else’s hands.

We crisscrossed

in and out

of each other’s lives,

a few times.

In all but one of those times,

something always told me

we would see each other again.

But not the last time.

In dance,

you chose me.

But in life, I know

you did not choose me.

What I don’t know

and what I never asked

is if you wanted me.

I imagined over the years

that you did not.

I wonder now,

If you regret me,

and I wouldn’t blame you

if you did.

Because we both

got tangled up

in all of it.

And you know what

it is.

Because it

happened to

you too.

We are more alike

than you or I

care to

admit.

So many times,

out of anger

you did not choose

your words wisely.

If it wasn’t for you…

You probably didn’t know,

but those five words stung.

The stinging was real

and as painful

as getting a tattoo,

although I never got one.

Or maybe I did.

A tattoo of us,

etched forever

on my broken heart.

If you’re reading this, I know you still care for me.

Hate is synonymous with love, so thank you for being out there, somewhere, looking me up.

I look you up, too.

If you’re reading this, I need you to know that I’m afraid we’ve missed our chance at one last try.

One last try before we die.

If you’re reading this, I need you to know that I’m here, waiting for you.

And for those of you who just happen to be reading this:

Seize the moment and reach out to your long-lost you-know-who.

YOU

are terrified

by what

makes

America

great.

YOU

want to regulate

my uterus,

but regulating

your gun

is too

personally

invasive.

YOU

white

Christian

Republican

nationalist

who

pathetically

brag

about

revering

Jesus

guns

and

babies

think

YOU

have

power

over

US.

YOU

right-winger,

neo-confederate,

alt-right,

skinhead,

Ku Klux Klanner,

forget that

Jesus

was a

selfless, radical

Jew

who defied

oppressors like

YOU

and protected

the rights and

dignity

of the

oppressed

like

US.

YOU

who violently marched

in Charlottesville

so

YOU

could

save America

by

uniting the

white right,

chanting

“You will not replace us,”

and

“Jew will not replace us.”

YOU

neo-nazi,

anti-semitic,

confederate flag bearer,

dare to expect

Jesus to save

YOU?

Perhaps

Jesus

should send

YOU

to “Camp Auschwitz.”

YOU

care

about

babies in the womb,

but once they’re born

YOU

care not a whit.

YOU

claim

to

love

babies

but

YOU

do nothing

as babies

are shot to death

every minute

of

every day.

YOU

patriots

who despise

Jews,

Blacks,

Democrats,

and

LGBTQ,

fantasize

about

hanging

US.

YOU

are

laughably naïve.

Because

try as

YOU

might,

YOU

are

already

being replaced

by

all

of

US.