The Pianist Poem by Mun Abed

1-

And two nights ago..I left her..
Because I said your name four times a day, six days a week.. and isn't it ironic?
- - - - - -
2-

And maybe when you left her I got sick..
Of Your constant answers..
'Yes, I would've'
But you didn't
You couldn't
And most importantly; you wouldn't.
And I sink down in a gentle swift right next to a black feather
Of an abandoned swan
How could you accuse yourself of running
When I wore a shirt that precisely read:
I hate running
And technically I do
Why didn't you grasp the hints?
I didn't want you to run a million miles
Ideally being a chain smoker I knew that would've killed you
Gently I thought of you
Wishing you'd get the hints I threw at your threshold..
I was at arms length
And you..despite running quickly
You ran to the opposite direction..
And scientifically speaking: men suck with directions..
Sometimes they don't get them at all and some other times they do..
Taking a longer route that would lead them to another hole..
Forgetting the whole they aimed for back when they didn't have directions at all..
I was at arms length
One cigarette away
One shower away
And one unbalanced meal away from your lips.
So who lost who here?
Was it me? losing the directions to your heart while being too busy plotting my revenge
And too busy falling for you?
Or was it the other hole you incidentally reclaimed after four months of being without a whole?
Was it my radical fallibility or your directionless journey?
- - - - - -

3-

I crave your scent
The same way you craved mine for a fraction of a moment
And I wonder do your drawers still smell like me?
My turquoise sea and my bubble gum arms length?