I know about last Spring.
You receive this message, you read this message,
on a 20C day in November
on a crowded city bus
and then, all at once, it’s over.
And briefly, there’s a surfacing
(of March;
sleepless, nauseous nights
trying to swallow what you have done,
digest it, expel it,
forget it).
Everyone looks a little dumb in this light,
namely you, but also the
4pm horde of high schoolers
looking for something to laugh at,
the coffee-stained baristas
looking for something to write about,
the bus driver who
didn’t smile at you the way he normally does,
and the resident perv,
who gets off on watching someone (you) cry.
So, you tell yourself that you’re not gonna cry
(Even though it’s over and you’re already crying)
and everyone on the bus knows that it’s over too
because you’ve got the posture of a used kleenex.
Everyone knows that your heart is melting,
that under your sweater,
your heart’s dripping all over your ribcage
like hot wax.
Everyone knows that your chest is breaking
out in hives,
they know
that your head is pounding, that
your aura is a damp heat.
Why do you think no one is sitting next to you?
People in short sleeves with bags of Christmas decorations
are annoyed with your sniffling,
they know what you did. Everyone knows.
You screw your eyes shut
because it feels like the bus is cluttered with constellations or strobe lights,
because the panic is applying an alarming amount of pressure from behind your eyes
and the humiliation of this moment sort of makes you forget
that there is ever any tenderness to be found in loving someone.
And even though your sleeve is soggy with snot,
and the collar of your shirt is already yellowing with sweat,
you’ll deny that anything’s happened.
But if
the guy in the Hawaiian shirt
with a botched ‘peace’ tattoo across his forehead knows that it’s over,
and the twin babies in the stroller, who have been staring at you, know that it’s over,
and the Videotron advertisement above your head, knows that it’s over.
Then maybe that means that it’s over.
Anyways,
you’re at the end of the line now,
(you missed your stop by like,
20 minutes). And you know you missed your stop
but you can’t quite remember
where you were headed
before your phone buzzed
before you read that
It’s over.

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