By Lindon Krasniqi
In which the person you love fades in and out of your life.
In which they kill the feelings they have for you out of "fear" and
you are left with the ghost of them,
a romance that died before it started.
You won’t even get to speak
at her funeral.
All fragile, eggshell memory.
A reverse kind of nostalgia veiling all the happy
you thought you saw.
You're still falling in love with the dead girl.
Fresh love, so blind to reality
that not even death spoils your daydreams.
Look at her.
Each time you touch her, she's colder.
You tell yourself the change means
there's something there.
There's something happening - she's thinking of you.
And when she rots,
when her skin
is just as ice
as the last time,
It's the winter.
Maybe, i'm just checking up too often.
When you hold them in yours,
her veiny hands never let go.
They don't want you to stay
or anything at all.
They don't want you
they don't want.
She stayed true to:
"Until Death do us part."
She was just quiet with the killing.
And you think:
Couldn't you have given me the gun?
Couldn't you leave me
and then go?
Lindon Krasniqi was born and raised in Prishtina, Kosova. He is studying Psychology and Gender Studies in Istanbul, and mainly writes poetry. You can catch him doing slam poetry in Prishtina and Istanbul, and regularly posting on his blog at www.initialsandaheartbeat.tumblr.com.