Six months I can’t run

I saw a photograph of you,
sun spattered and smiling, unaffected,
as though it were a year ago and I’d been faded out.
Not cut, no scar or line to betray what was
just never there. You’d even the same hair,
as when we met.

I’d like to forget. Six months
marching military, target: normal life.
Prised apart with lies and fists for a knife
past it’s best before. Did you ever really want
to share the same front door?
Are you enjoying life free from
the girl you tried to flee from.
Dear god, i hope you’re happy,
and then some.

Knew when to run.


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