Almost Maybe
Photo by Aditya Vikram Singh on Unsplash

Your eyes,

all-consuming

like quicksand

or whiskey.

Honeymoons of fidelity

orbiting around black holes of uncertainty,

desperate to control

just how much light gets in.

I could never control

how much of you got in.

I always believed in deadbolts,

but you demanded chain link

and now

all of my beliefs

have become unhinged.

I never

should’ve

let you in,

but this place

wouldn’t be home

without you.

Now,

it never will be again.

I am left

with a bouquet of Almost Maybes,

leaving flowers on the doorstep

of everything

that might have been.

© Gina Clingan 2020
['Gina Clingan']
['Closure', 'Poetry', 'Poetry On Medium', 'Moving On', 'Relationships']