My defeat consisted of exactly these things:

One nod, one broken heart, and

Sixty seven droplets of tears that burned my hand

When I covered my face

When I closed my eyes

When you became the missing number of my life

When your departure reduced my soul to half its size


Your victory also consisted of three things:

One smile, one plane ticket,

One other girl that took you across the world

In order to abandon me




  1. Carol Ann Hoel · November 29, 2010

    When the number is two, the absence of one hurts more than we can understand or absorb. Your beautiful poem expresses that terrible loss. Blessings to you…

  2. slpmartin · November 28, 2010

    To me..this was an excellent poem…so much emotion capture within these lines….just brilliant!

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