The Rut


you know what I think? I think you still love me  and you’re scared shitless of it. I think I still appear  in your dreams, your memories, your good days, your bad  days, your proud days. I think you’re scared. I know I am. I think I don’t show up in your dreams, or in any of  your days in fact. I think you’ve forgotten me and I’m  spending my days trying to remember. Time is funny like that. It gives and it takes when  it wants to. Time doesn’t care about me or you.  I’m in my bed, I’m in your bed. It’s a Sunday in some  April, and I’m in your arms and I love it. I don’t feel  loved. I kiss you, I kiss her the next day. What does it  matter? What does any of it matter? 

I’m at the park with you. She lives across the street.  She looks down from her window while I’m here with you.  I look at you and I ache and she looks at me and hates. I’m in my bed, I see him, I see her, I see myself. I’m  happy. He’s not here anymore, neither is she.

First Published
First and Multidimensional Queer Women’s Collective of Bangladesh

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