That poem I wrote you
last month
about how your eyes
were pools of heaven?
Scratch that.
Forget it was ever written.
I meant something else entirely.
I rewrote the poem
and now your eyes are described as caverns
into something deep
and dark
and dangerous.

And the card I got you
the other day
with the two penguins walking away
into the cool tundra?
I’d like you to re-imagine it, please,
as if the penguins were walking away
from each other.

The things I said
in confidence
have now been unsaid.
The secrets I swore
I had never told another soul?
That’s because
as of now
they’ve been made untrue.

Believe nothing I told you.
I have edited the history
that we once shared.
As of now,
everything we were
is gone.
Everything we could have been
is erased.
You have become nothing to me
while I am simply nothing.

About Jonathan Berger

I used to write quite a bit more.
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