The shape of me to come

Something tells me that I can not continue like this (like your satellite). Feelings always get in the way, reshape and restrain me. And I find myself to be more normative than I wish to be.

Playback. Erase. Watching everything again with my inner camera. The bed, how you lie there, unknowing. I sit down beside you, pouring out those words without looking into your eyes. I rewind my feelings, can sense my body in that moment. How me and you fall apart, how there is no us from there onward. Remember your fear, the frightened gaze (I tried to avoid).

Miss arms around my shoulders, the closeness and warmth of another body in the intoxicated crowd on a Saturday night. Miss your words in my ear, your kisses on my neck, the tenderness in your touch, the silent promises of a joint day tomorrow. You gave me soul, right? Gave me pop with and for torn hearts. You gave me you in burnt software. Now all that has become me, with the difficulties of distinguishing me from painful memories. Should I have to abandon pieces that were me before we met, that has become us during all those years?