Fight for Us

I always thought we’d find our way back together, somehow, sometime, someplace.                                                                                    And we did. But we were older and we had changed.

You had made me cold.

You left. You were always good at walking away.

You did not look back this time.

You should have told me that you wanted to fight.

Until I Met You

I didn’t consider myself a writer until I met you.

You were all scruffy hair and spectacles

at the end of your nose,

all classic novels

and 20 cups of tea

to keep you going

your tap, tap, tap on your writing desk

with your ink-stained finger tips.

I inspired you, you had said

once

and I clung to this long after you had forgotten,

Your gentle smile and freckles and your one armed hugs

I

wrapped myself in your wool jumper that winter

jotting down pencil words in messy notebooks,

with sore fingertips on typewriter keys,

I am certain,

I wasn’t a writer,

Until you inspired me.