i looked in the mirror for a long while, but only glass stared back.

glass and neat letters, inked in hot shower fog and fingerprints

telling me how many years it’s been. asking what happened.

i said i was sorry for a long while, but was never quite forgiven.

forgiven for not really trying, but still failing anyway.

and for always being–fuck, sorry, a little bit short.

i held the pieces in place for a long while, but not long enough.

enough to make something from the mess, something good.

something like rags to riches, coal to diamonds, smoke to fire.

i liked being liked for a long while, but the liking was poison.

poison, not fatal, but that makes brittle bones.

tell me how many years it’s been. ask me what happened.

i’ve been waiting to tell you for a long while.