I had written too many words
on the subject, and none had
gotten through to you.
I needed action.
What a sickening thought: I
was becoming (or already
had become) one of those men
whose life was defined by the
nonsense of written language
and whose tongue often felt weak
and sloppy while intoxicated. Look,
this is not another set of self-
indulgent words. This is an apology.
When you left me and I watched you
leave the single room of our house,
into the rain, into the night whose
darkness erased you and turned the row
of streetlights above your head into
shards of light as bright as launched-
but-not-detonated fireworks, I wept.
I’m sorry beth. I’m sorry for trapping you
in a room, in a darkness you never asked for
and coming at you with my whiskey mouth,
I’m sorry, for this, and for other things, I
am sorry. I know now that when you said
“I’m lonely but I don’t want to kiss you,”
that I should not have responded with “how lonely
are you? Because I feel like I’m gonna die if
we don’t form some kind of connection.”
I’ve slept with one person since you’ve been gone,
and it was terrible. Nothing compares to you, beth.
If the darkness has not digested you, please,
please, please return to me. I am where
you left me.
Written at 11:15 at night, in my office, in Agoura Hills CA.