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She tries not let him phase her anymore.
She tries to ignore the clawing in her chest when he dances.
It doesn’t work.
She had resigned herself to sitting backstage and peering through the curtain to catch a glimpse of his face.
She had resigned herself to crying alone into an empty bottle at Silky’s apartment.
She had resigned herself to turn love poems into song lyrics
and channel them in performances
and pretend she never met him
except when he passes by on the street
or he smiles too big for his face
or his eyes squint up
or he tilts his head to the side
or he breathes
She will not love him
She will turn away and pretend it doesn’t matter that they shared kisses along the river
and smiles across a bedsheet
and texts across the ocean
and dreams in the dead of night
and heartbreak in different chests
she will not love him
Not in the way she used to
Because she can’t do that anymore
She can’t love him the same way she loved him when he kissed her good morning
She can’t love him the same way she loved him when he listened to her ramblings at three in the morning
She can’t love him the same way she loved him when he was hers
and when she was his
and when everything fit together like it was supposed to
like it should
like it was always meant to be that way
But they trade small talk over a thrumming bass now
They share pained looks through stage curtains
and smiles when the other turns away
they love quietly now
they love just enough to still itch under her skin
they love enough to never get closure
they love enough
and not enough
Because it isn’t enough to quell the growing sense of dread Vanessa feels.
It isn’t enough to keep her heart from racing when he looks at her just so.
It isn’t enough to quiet her head from the memories of their last kiss
It isn’t enough to make him stay.
Their love wasn’t enough to make him stay.
It still isn’t enough.
Because he slips out of her hotel room when he thinks she’s asleep.
Or when he knows she’s not.
She’ll make filthy promises she has no intention of fulfilling, because she knows he’s already made up his mind.
She says them anyway and pretends it is just sex.
Lies to his face about all the dirty things she wants, when in reality, she only wants him to stay the night.
Wants to hold him when the sun comes up.
Wants to know this is real.
That this isn’t something she’s made up in her head.
That he loves her too.
The he loves her enough.
That he loves her enough to stay this time.
She stops making promises one night.
For a second it seems like he misses them.
But he shakes himself, returning back to the man she admires, but not the one she loves.
She lets him get to the door, hand on the knob, seconds away from history repeating itself as it had the past five months.
She doesn’t let it.
“Please.”
And history, stops repeating for a moment.