I don’t believe in God but I believe in fate,
In scrawling out excuses for our mistakes.
For the wrong turns that the lungs make
And the thing I should not say.
For fear they prove true
I sat down with my coffee and considered loving you.
I drank two and a half cups trying not to.
I spilled the last,
It sprawled across the kitchen table
Muddied the headlines with stains of my regrets
I let it pour off the sides and onto the carpet.
I don’t know.
Who am I to talk?
Or not talk, really.
Or talk incessantly, though never say the thing I mean to.
I am one worth not talking to.
I’ve been thinking about you.