We were turning cartwheels, barefoot in the snow

It was a year ago today, though I'm sure you don't remember, that you offered me your gridlocked graphite heart stapled between a plaintive fold of green. It said everything I'd denied in our twisted fingers and heavy heads; everything I refused to look in the face drilled defiantly into my ears. Maybe I was stupid, maybe I've always been far too literal, but I made myself believe it in my frenzied eyes and the lines down my back.

Yeah, I'm pathetic--yet I still don't know whether I'm regretful... but everything is emptier than ever before.