It’s me again.
You’re probably still at work.
This is the last time, I promise.
I apologize for all of it, for the cold sheets I left you in,
for the lazy liquor Sundays and their two-faced church pew
I know now that I fucked up everything, starting with the syllables of your last name and ending with your opinion on love.
And maybe the stars do sometimes align when you least expect it— in the right place, at the right time,
but not for us.
I apologize if it sounds like I’m choking, it’s from punching my own stomach in attempted relief for the knot formed by your voice over the machine.
I should never have gone, but now I should go, I never thought you would leave but now I’ll leave you alone.
Lately I hate my own bed but you probably do too, been feeling homeless in my head because my home was with you.
it doesn’t matter where you’ve been, but, rather where you’re going, and i’m willing to help you get there. don’t let your past hold you back from having a future with me. i’m not saying the relationship we will withhold will be perfect, but, i’ll put a 110% into us. i want you to realize that shit does happen, and we will fight, only to make up hours later with endless kissing and our hands roaming everywhere.
Three years later, a new girl sits cross-legged on your bed.
She tastes like a different flavor of bubblegum than you are used to.
She opens up a book that you had to read in high school, and a folded picture of us falls out of chapter three.
Now there are two unfinished stories resting in her lap.
Inevitably, she asks, and you tell her.
You say: I dated her a while back.
You don’t say: Sometimes, when I’m holding you, I imagine the smell of her vanilla perfume.
You say: She was younger than me.
You don’t say: The sixteen summers in her bones warmed the eighteen winters my skin had weathered.
You say: It’s nothing now.
You don’t say: But it was everything then.