Maybe not.

Maybe I thought that quietly leaving would calm
the urges to run back, to beg you, to tell you with
salt streaked eyes that I'm falling so out of control;
but this place is like vertigo and I've got nothing
to hold onto but the ruby fresh stains gracing my
hipbones and nostalgic faces, fading away.

Maybe I thought that closing my eyes when we
held each other would bind the memories together,
so every moment spent with you would become a
time engraved in my mind; but now it's all blurring
together into one warm sun-colored second in your
arms. Now, when I close my eyes, all I can think of is
the scent of cigarettes that last time you pressed against
me, and the feeling that time was finally running out.

Maybe I thought that losing myself to deep nights and
dark eyes and the arms of someone nothing like you
would free me from the image of you holding onto
her after I broke your heart; but with the echoes of
fireworks overhead and the faint tune of a song from
my childhood sliding through the crowd to find me
in shadowed corners, all I can think is that now we
can say that blue eyes have torn us both apart.

Maybe I thought that I could fix myself, but god,
I was wrong.