The Last Time You Were Beautiful

You could have been beautiful

with your sharp cheek bones

that could cut glass

and tear the smile off of my lips,

those crystalline eyes

that reflected all the grace of the world

but none of your own,

your cherub curls that had a life of its own,

and your masculine charm.


We had two and a half tabs of ecstasy,

three long drives to nowhere,

eight two-hour phone calls,

two songs that we stole from the airwaves

and made our own,

my own secret identity

complete with a Chinese family name,

nine bottles of beer,

two coincidences where fate showed her hand,

a hungry embrace, sweet kisses,

and a blue moon.


That fucking blue moon was just for us.


You gave it all away.

Two weeks could have been forever

and yet you folded it in your hands

and with a simple “good bye”

you put it in the trash and left for a party

and I never saw you again.


That must have been some party.

That was the last time you were beautiful.


Since then, I could have earned a Masters degree,

learned a new language, Mandarin even,

fallen in and out of love twice,

or learn how to make flowers bloom.


You could have been beautiful.

And no one is really ever ugly —

they are only beautiful or forgotten.

There are no in-betweens here,

in this horrid state

of remembrance and loss.



2 thoughts on “The Last Time You Were Beautiful

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