‘i want to be rid of you. i want to be rid of you not.’
(a poem, a tale of something we're aware of all too well)
a whiff of chapstick brings me back--
maybe i never left
he is an albatross around my neck;
he is reluctance to take down the christmas lights,
hoping the snow stays
he is a gloomy summer’s end,
the faint glimmer of fall,
the cold breeze in winter--
he’s everything, he’s it all