This city is too small for the both of you

You see her places

where her face has no business being reflected,

where the sounds of hurried feet on pavement

leave memories in your ears

of her walking away.

Yes, you love this city

but its stories are woven into her hair,

and its people have burrowed their homes

in the creases of her skin

where shadows of wrinkles

have started to appear.

It is fine.

You can leave.

You can go somewhere else.

Another city where people can call you

another nickname, where your mother

will hug the house line to her chest at night

and people you knew in passing

will ask each other about you

in-between How are yous and I'm fines.

Maybe in this other place,
in this new city,
you will find someone
whose feet have learned to meditate
and whose head is not permanently cocked to the side
waiting for you to catch up.

Maybe in this new place

you will find someone

who left somewhere else

and is tired of leaving

and knows how to stay.