Her Concept of Freedom

He once wrote that loving her is like:
trying to describe the exact weight and smell of honeysuckle
in the spring air like:
the marrying of a hallelujah with a prayer;
and now he's given up on salvation-
He writes about how the slamming door
shuddered straight through his ribcage
He writes that the world is a callous growl
low with the texture of a deep hum-

He writes he writes and he writes
because a few days after she left
he found a scribbled note that read:
Loving him is like:
waking up with spring in your bed
but winter in your bones, in your head
It's like every single thing you have ever known
betraying you because to belong to someone else
when you don't even want to belong to yourself...

the draining restlessness of it will rip through your molecules
the weight of it will settle still in your esophagus
but didn't she know?
sometimes even the chains try to pull apart at the links,
and loving her carried the same weight as being loved.