I had the answer long ago.

The last time I saw you, you were walking away. You looked back at me like it was the last time you would ever see me. I knew you weren't coming. I looked after you like it was the last time I would ever see you. I was right. Wake up and breathe, wake up and breathe. I had that empty feeling like too much caffeine and no sleep. A dry throat, crusty, tired eyes. I made coffee at two a.m so the apartment wouldn't feel so empty, so that I could stop thinking of the smell of you. All you ever did was tell me I was a statue, I was a statue. Was I on a pedestal? But I have a heart, it's beating inside of me--even though that time we slept together you said you couldn't hear anything. There was only silence between us. Was that the problem? You didn't want to hear. We had a great and perfect farewell.

Now I want to slip back to three year ago, many years ago. Slip in and out of white washed galleries where men and women stared at us like we were statues, like we were perfect slim beings that God had created. We don't believe in God. We don't believe in art. We just believe in breathing. Wake up and breathe. You were so wrong. I was so wrong. I had found love long ago. But I don't believe in love now.