my mother is buying dishes for my brother's first apartment
that he'll share with his girlfriend;
I am wrestling with the question of who will I share with—

try as I might to convince myself 
that it is better this way,
I write a new story in my head over again.
my interest is piqued, my body betrays me, my eyes look for eyes looking back.

just another set of eyes

just another guy with a funny smile I'd like to run into for just a little while,
say it will pass, but my heart
swells
aches
write me a story, put my name on the page.

—

if it aches, won't You heal it
if it swells, hold it tight

my heart goes on for another lonely night
mend it, oh God
make it right

—

*A poem for those wondering who they will share with. Who will share the home, the dishes, the meals, the love? This is a difficult feeling, that only seems to grow heavier and more isolating with time. I would love to open space for a discussion below, if you can relate to this feeling. Yours, Rena