Blindness

I was inexplicably happy 

with my hand in yours.

After all that work

and all this time,

you were finally mine.

And we walked.

We put our adventure shoes on

and we explored that city we built

together.

To the right was the diner

where we had our first date.

And on top of that building

you spun me around and

laughed at my ridiculous curls.

On that park bench we sat for hours

and we dreamt of what might be

in the clouds.

That museum is where you taught me about

silence.

Our city was beautiful once.

But this morning I woke up

and rubbed my tired eyes and

and a layer of blindness fell to the floor.

Where once a shining skyscraper stood,

now was a pile of broken windows.

The city we constructed was in

apocalyptic ruin.

I still had paint on my forehead and fingertips

from finishing one of our buildings

yet the masterpieces were already decaying.

Foundations were cracking,

walls crumbling,

trees burning.

You let go of my hand and

I lost you in the chaos.

That city is haunted at every

street corner

by your eyes and your calluses and your

memories.

Good thing I am no city girl.