Conversation stimulates inspiration.

Let’s start with the truth.
I kissed you goodbye at the bottom of the stairs,
The salt of your tears left a sting on my lips.
You walked out of that door and out of my life,
And I was certain we’d never again cross paths.
So I took down all the photos of you in my room,
And crossed out your name in black ink in my heart.
But the indigo seeped through the careful wall I built up,
And threatened to drown me in tears I never cried,
and I kept coming face-to-face with memories I thought I’d thrown out,
why do we forget what we need to remember,
and remember what we want to forget?
For kicks, I drive on the footpath at dawn,
Before others drag their wearied bodies out from between twisted sheets,
Daytime an escape from their persistent dreams,
Dreams that reveal their vulnerabilities
and offer truths they don’t want to face.
I recently allowed my dreams to speak,
Tell me what I need to hear,
And in time I was unable to sever my ties to you for good,
For unbeknownst to me, you left a string around my heart,
A thread you could follow back, but I don’t want to be traced.
You once sent me a thousand yellow daisies, but they’re all gone now.
Flowers die, love dies, and as I write, the ink dries.
I’m no longer slave to your broken promises, nor victim to your lies,
From this moment on, I’ll start with the truth.
I hope in my heart you’ll do the same.