Pulling the yellowed

We sit in the park, staring at the pink-blue sky that carries news of rain; the joggers doing laps around the oval; the dogs chasing each other’s tails.

We stare at all these things and anything but each other.

This is a silence five years in the hardening,
yet my hurt has not stopped pounding
and my heart? –
has not stopped screaming.

I, Sagittarian take aim, while
you, Canceran emotionally guard.

Sorry does not come easy. 

I run my fingers through the dead, yellowed grass, pulling and snapping its hollowed stem.

I don’t want to be angry anymore –

– I don’t want us to be this way

Sorry does not come easy.

But you are the one who says it this time.

Cathartic oxygen,
my heart breathes you in;
pink-blue pain thaws
as your arms lap around;
steady fingers chase away
the very last hurtguards.

We stare at all these things and each other.

This is a forgiveness five years in the softening.

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