Parched Sonnets

He wanted to know what I saw. So I showed him. Purple eyelids. Broken irises. The ugly in his stare swelled into acceptance. I couldn't stay.

I didn't want to, but I still asked that worthless question. Why we were there. If we'd ever be there again. It was hard at the time not to want what seemed such a reasonable demand.

He had asked to know what I saw. Begrudgingly I'd agreed to show him. Thirsty pens. Torn paper. Windows that only see in.

The measure of a life is in who still measures it. And when no one does I feel better. Not having to believe they're actually my friends.

I tried not to imagine, but couldn't stop myself. So many corners to turn. His eyes promising me a place in a world that had never offered one.

He didn't say anything anyone else hadn't. To make failure sound like success. He just said it in such a way that I was willing to lose again.

It's my fault.

And it's also yours.

I've never been broken. But I'll always be incomplete.