i don’t dream like you do

you write about lavender.
i write about the scent that never washed out of my clothes
after i left.

you say the moon was bright enough to blind you.
i say: good.
maybe now you’ll stop looking away
and see how it burns.

you want to fall asleep and dream together.
i’ve fallen asleep beside men
who never wake up.

you quote stars in the dark
like it’s new.
but i’ve lived in the dark
long enough to know
that not all stars guide.

some just burn from a distance
and let you die cold anyway.

you hope this lasts forever.
i hoped for survival.