Goodbyes By A Dozen Roses Poem by Gabriella Mayer

Heaven knows I want you here with me. The more I sip the dark treacle of coffee that's supposed to make me feel better about being awake during a rainy day, the more I wish your fingers were tapping against the wooden table inching their way toward the back of my left hand so you can feel how much of me can be torn apart so easily. The more I think about it, the more I want you to think of this and refuse to do so because you know every time you could tear me apart, there is a nerve leading straight to my heart and you'd never want to cause my heart any pain. I sit here by myself in this Starbucks hoping those thoughts were still true.

The thing about you leaving is that we've sacrificed finite moments in our lives to become swallowed inside one another just so one of us can decide to spew chunks of the medicine we are made of down into the trash bin. You decided I was the piece of a peanut you never could eat, the penicillin never meant to be injected. The one who loved you you could never love back.

Now you move around the city
and I sit here practicing being brave.