I lost you like a yellow balloon
With wrists so small it’s not enough bone to tie the ribbon tight enough.
It floated away until the sun finally thought she had a friend.
I lost you like a library card.
I lost you like my voice
On a Sunday morning.
I lost you like a button,
Like a thought on the tip of my tongue,
Like a runaway bunny.
I lost you like I lost my mind
In that year after you left.
When I lost the ability to feel anything other than dark.
When I lost the ability to shower.
I lost you like I lost myself so deeply in you.
Until if you asked me my favorite movie, the title of your favorite
movie would fall out of my mouth.
Until I got a cat because you liked them.
Until I wore a lot of gray, because you wore a lot of gray.
Until I stopped reading, stopped writing, stopped listening to country music.
And that, of course, is how I lost you.
Megan Waring graduated from Virginia Tech with her BA in English with an emphasis in Creative Writing. Since then she has lived in China, North Carolina, Virginia, and currently, California. She often teaches children but more often finds them teaching her. Her work has been published in The Silhouette, The Legendary, Germ Magazine, Aegir, and is forthcoming in the Used Furniture Review. She was the 2010 recipient of the Virginia Tech Literary Award. She blogs occasionally at mmwaring.tumblr.com.