Some Mistakes Aren’t Mistakes At All

I’m beginning to think that you’re more distinct than I had originally given you credit for.

I don’t know what it is, or was, about you but it sits still sweetly at the tip of my tongue as if you had never used yours to manipulate and reject me.

When I think about all the others my brain hurriedly fills with regret and my face contorts in a cringe that only comes with the kind of mistake that doesn’t change anything but the way you feel about yourself.

And no, you’re not the only one that doesn’t make my stomach wretch, my eyes shut tight, my brain struggle to block the slideshow of mortification, but you are the only one that I had gone so far with and given so much to without hesitation and can still stand firmly on the crumbling foundation of our past.

Sometimes I need to remind myself that wishing I had never been with them and wishing I had never met you are different in the ways that one would have kept me from having the opportunity to make some bad decisions and the other would have saved me from tumbling blindly off the steepest cliff I’d ever stood atop as I fell in love with you.

No Ship Floats Where Remembrance Does Not

I’ve spent months

that felt like years

trying so hard

just to sail away from you

and yet you’ve drifted closer

and more often by

then the wreckage

that I knew

so much better than yours.

I’ve sunk ships that were larger,

stronger,

and had much wider sterns than yours,

but I could never even poke a hole

in your sail

or leave a dent in your hull.

Now, as I ease and trim the sails

you fade to the distance

but as I turn leeward

the wind carries me back to you anyway

and I wonder if it even matters

the direction I face.