Leaving

amidst the scattered remnants

of the life I left

I recall seeing the clothes strewn on the floor

the occasional cigarette in the ashtray

half-drunk glasses of water on the sill

there so long that a film of dust covered the surface.

I recall the dim lights we supplemented with enough candles

to burn the building down, the romantic embraces and

the way you’d pull me in close as I stirred dinner

and, the large words you scrawled over thin paper

we lived on each other

ate the sweetness as well as poison

we each had to offer

my tongue filled your mouth each night

and I would wake up hours later

to find you slumped over the chair

more words pouring forth on paper

you grounded me

and while so different from the others I’d known

I found myself imitating you, as is my way,

admiring you

wanting to be like you,

so possessed by your passion for the storm inside

that it overwhelmed your life

I wanted to know what it felt like to be driven

and consumed by one’s work and thoughts

so that the rest of life, so often exploited to be important,

would become meaningless

the laundry was never folded

and I began to wash the sheets every week

knowing you would not

the dishes rotted until I rolled up my sleeves

and I pulled matted hair

from the drains of the small bathroom with the cracked sky-blue tiles

the ugly side of love disenchanted me

and no crushing wave of memory,

of the beginning,

could dredge up those first miraculous months of lust

our bodies entwined still

but my mind wandered to other cities and the life I might have

if I left you

I had not become you

the chameleon changed its look and ways

but could never truly transform

I could not embrace the recklessness and fever of your passion

and my attempts would keep me awake at night

cold sweat on my back

and racing thoughts that I, yet again, was wasting this life

I could admire, yet never achieve

I was not like you

I packed a small bag

the bra that had hung on the armrest of the sofa for three months

finally pressed my flesh again

and I roughly pushed my own scattered thoughts into a pocket

they were written rudely on recycled postage paper,

thoughts I could never have shared in the shadow of your brilliance

I made the bed one last time as you slept defenselessly on the sofa,

head back and legs apart

I looked at you and knew I didn’t love you

not for your plain humanity

or the fact that sometimes you don’t shower enough

no, I did not love you

because when I did

I loved what I saw in you

that I was really searching for

within myself