“Sixty [unsent]”

The chain jingles softly, leaving its mark around her ankle
Darkens her skin’s hue; Logic matters little
When she’s enclosed in four walls on her lonesome –
She’s lost some particulars but his voice comes out
From some sealed crevice, flinging her backward in time.
She has the means to sever the hold, they say,
But when she grips the blade to cut herself free,
The will is lost in a tide of Regret and Curiosity.

There is Knowledge that she possesses,
That he is not on the other side of their physical divide
Languishing in Longing and thinking of her,
Or waiting for the moment to reveal himself again;
She promised herself the Oblivion – so much better
To pass the seconds and not observe with a keen eye
The Minutiae of him forging ahead. And yet she travels
A path along that dangerous two-lettered word.

For one day, her heart takes a pilgrimage, wandering
Astray, airing out memories like abandoned suites;
She can hardly explain this phenomenon, this rendering
Of an ordinary person into a preternatural shape
That refuses to fade. And when they must return,
The dimmed images of love past, to their corners
She tells herself, Never again – a promise she will
Inevitably break; memory won’t allow her to forget.

In the dark she wonders if the other is the lucky one –
Or perhaps there is something better coming –
Wondering if she can relax her fingers and finally let go.

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