Anger comes and goes,
ebbs and flows,
like a tide of bile.
It washes over my stomach,
burns over my mind,
and consumes by acid erosion
that most precious of resources:
time with others.

At times, it hurts to be reminded of your place in someone's life: surrogate. Never get too close (again).

Do you ever miss me ever?
And if you did, would it matter?

That moment of delirious exhaustion,
potentially complete failure,
and all I can do is smile stupidly.
And write about it.

Sometimes I wish I could rewind to a less complicated minute
and decide to do the things that were momentarily easier.
Integrity is an overrated virtue,
an artifice of identity
that leaves
no room
for the push and pull of the relationships that compose me,
of which I am composed.
Integrity perhaps mattered more in another time,
when people were less mobile,
faster tied to the few they knew.
I am guilty of nostalgia.
I seek truth and consistency that I know are impossible,
and that matter less when I’ll soon just be picking up and going
anyway.