L

L is for love from you, for us.

L is for lemon juice over pancakes.

L is for luck, which does not exist.

L is for left, the boxes that were forgotten during the move.

L is for liberation, from a tainted connection.

L is for London, weekend breaks and no explanation.

Sitting In

Fond memories roar through my mind on the days I sit inside.

Eventually, I’d have deleted your contact information. The whole lot.

Sometimes I tell myself you never existed.

Like the Chewbacca or Nessie.

I bite into my heartbeat and eat out the trauma you left behind.

I think it’s been 12 months or more since I last felt your heart beating.

Keep on walking, don’t stop.

Inside the walls of my palace, the strongest step up and are vocal. I completely accept all responsibility for being too amazing for your vibe to hold onto our connection.

Unlike you, I don’t need a soul to step on.