Before April

The end of March bothers me.
Something happened
and I can’t remember.
Five years ago
and we never recovered.
Three years after,
we began a conversation.
Then the world got in the way
and I never found out
how March ended.
Almost two years now
that we’ve been apart.
Sometimes I think of asking you
what happened that March.
I never ask though
because I’m afraid of how much it’ll hurt.
But if I never ask
maybe this month will never be over.
Standing still,
with a double-edged blade in hand.

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