When I think of snowstorms, I think
of you. I don't know why that is, it isn't
like we ever spent any time together
during a snowstorm. I think the isolation
reminds me of your world-view. I learned
about it during a fight we had: you didn't
like people, or socializing, or the internet;
so many of the things I said sustained me
when I didn't have you. Once entangled
by gifts, I belonged to you, indebited.
Why is it your gifts without strings came
with ropes and hooks and overdue bills
and righteous claims of ownership? Idiot
that I am, I fell for that same trick again
and again over the years, always sure
this time it would be different. Never
learned, even though you'd telegraph
your break-up punches so they arrived
when I finally let down my tired guard.
They reason you pushed me to open up
to you, was so that you could best target
your words to hurt the most. You broke
up with me- yet again- I made no moves
to stop you. It was November. I was done.
But I remember you occasionally, usually
during snowstorms, depression. Anything
that tries to isolate me from the world.