The Push Away

It's not like this blog has a specific purpose anyway, but here I go in another random direction. This is a poem. I don't pretend to be a master, but I needed these words to be out there, whether they were read or not.

Get Ready for the Push Away

I can only call this thing

messed up

so many times.

Passive aggressive, I know,

but I'm walking away.

I know you won't follow,

but nothing less than being 

locked out

will make you

want in.

We've spoken

We've laughed

We've shared

everything adds up.

But you won't do the math

Not that it should be math...

Like Elizabeth Browning, I'm not sure love can or should be quantified.

Love doesn't run out anyway,

because it's not like a 

shampoo bottle

that you use

until it's

empty

It's like an empty book

that you fill with words and

images. You can close it, but you 

never run out of pages, you never run out...

So, how do I love you?

As far as the distance to your door.

Any further is more than you want.

Choosing to end it, choosing to close the book,

makes it finite, measurable, quantifiable.

Oh, look! I guess I quantified it in the end.

Not light-hearted, I know, but I was feeling a bit inspired. I suppose my habit of running away came in handy for something. Ummm... something less angsty next time, I promise.