Actually, I'm Just Wearing Your Glasses

I watched your cheeks flush, colored by an air
From a Calgary cold front
Your breath made ghosts spill into the night
And gather as if they might not disappear
I had heard a rumor you were moving back home! But even if it was true
I did not expect to hear it from you so bluntly
So it hung in the air like a fever, or a slow moving front
And I would not find shelter here, so I braced myself
«Out!» I cried, «Out! Are you running to or are you running from?
Or does it even matter if it won’t change your mind?»
When you put you hand on mine
I knew