I’m inching my way back to the borders of Switzerland
crawling back from the endless fight
between loving and hating you.

Most days…
I go to bed with anger
and wake up wrapped up in the limbs of missing you

it’s so hard to disentangle
without making a sound
sliding my arms out from underneath
the pressure of your stare
flexing the sleepiness out of my fingers and toes
without shifting the entire dreaming world
on its axis.

And the debate of contacting you
keeps being sent to committee
to rage conversation
on all the things I never knew I wanted to say
and reckless charges
against the stolen moments
when I still entertain the memories
as future possibilities.

So I resign myself to silence,
quiet solitude
instead of drafting you into this war
and as I’m losing every battle
with thoughts and feelings
hitting me with everything they’ve got

I refuse to crawl my way back to you
with just the scars and apologies I’ve collected
on the field
so I’m pulling myself through the mud
to get to Switzerland
maybe then–

I won’t feel like such a traitor


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