Intolerant.

I fear the return of your crazed demeanor.
The nights we spent laughing and giggling, veiling over the anger I had hiding between my lips.
I can't hold these things in any more than you can.
We were rotting in shallow holes that you couldn't even see.
And you dreamed of having me in places I wouldn't be.
Why couldn't you wake up to my voice telling you I don't love you anymore?
It isn't that hard to shut out something you can't see.

I learned this from you anyway.

Maybe you will cook up something nice for me to eat,
treasure me in safe spot in your little home,
or give me fruits I wouldn't dare bear.
I don't see your face in all the things I do anymore.
I don't feel the warmth I had imagine from the light of the sun you almost gave me.

We will snip our toenails every month from now,
cut our hairs every 4 months from now,
shed our skin every 10 years from now,
and no one- and not even us, will remember the parts that we will be leaving behind.
And just as you will remain being a part of me for a long while,
you will still be something I will forget in time and in all these spaces we couldn't assimilate and conquer together.