Repetitive December

i couldn't stand to look at your face
and i coughed you out every time i accidentally breathed you in.

when you tried to open me up,
i was embarrassed that it worked.

and now i wonder if i'm just imagining things.
i saw you - and i knew you saw me.
i burned the bridge between the river that separated the city and the suburb.
so there was no where left for me to run.

i am a wandering spirit -
making them laugh for a day.
showing them crazy
and showing them life
for a few minutes.
then i freeze up and go home.

i loose all livelihood and i run overseas,
walking on water,
turning it to ice.
i am too cold;
too silvery and bitter
for them to remember.

but with you?
no.
it was days of laughter
and months of crazy.
it was fire and ice.
the constant melting and shedding of us -
the owl and the mouse.

i don't remember much about you,
but i do recall one thing:
the look on your face when i told you i was leaving.
the moment sort of stopped and you starred at nothing,
shifting your typical dead eyes to the ground.
what would usually be an instant response
faded into a slow jumble of words that didn't make sense.

you fixed yourself and changed the subject.
i promised myself i would never see you again.