Ex

the rigid smiled forced, photographed, sorry to
have taken it as I scroll through
the pictures later. almost visible the effort,
orange signs warning of construction, the paint
just barely dried, your pride so close
to disrepair. I force myself not to care, fighting
the urge to straighten your shirt,
tangling my fingers in new hands and seeking support
from a new tower; though neither
tower nor support you ever were
to me, and I still don’t know
what I was to you. no anger,
no regret, no bitter hastily proclaimed
wishes that I could forget you
forever (you are still too dear, I acknowledge, for that);
only pity, on both our parts, for
something that I will never fully understand.








I can't help but laugh a little bit inside.
I think I handled the meeting pretty well, actually.