Old cards

A pilgrimage through words no longer meant
For me, I rifled through old cards and envelopes
And felt vulgar and voyeuristic, ogling at intimacy so 
Shamelessly. I am unreasonably jealous of someone
Who has promises she took for granted. Now, there is 
No next month, or 6 months, or the second year, even 
If I would give everything to endure that wait. She and 
I, would have waited entire lifetimes and never be enough.

Stranger’s words, how I hold onto them guiltily, like a 
Tube of shoplifted lipstick, or precious jewellery 
Found on a friend’s dresser, beautiful but painfully 
Not mine. Nonetheless, I cannot put them down or throw 
Away, because they keep a part of me alive as
My body lay here dying, stumps of discarded vegetable, 
Labouring to live despite missing half of my 
Small heart. If it is not too greedy, one must rely
On a ghost of your breath to make the nights
Turn day again.