which of us screwed up?
when i sat down with our old baggage, before throwing it away, i wanted to know which of our thousand little idiosyncrasies didn’t click the right note?
was it the smell of your skin and
the way I’d remember it months later
in middle of a near death accident?
was it the clutter my fingers made when they moved to write from the burns of a heavy day when they heard the first word off your mouth?
was it in the way the night came with its guttural anxiety and how we’d laugh its demons away with our favourite movies?
was it when I told you I wouldn’t immortalise you in my art anymore (and that promise i will keep, once I know which of us screwed it up)
was it in the wind between us that couldn’t stand its heavy jealousy with the proximity two people share with no room for it to get in?
I put our baggage away, and all there was inside was no place for memories,
for them I parted with already,
it was just a lot of wind
two bodies inhabited
some ages ago
the wind won;
we screwed up.