Gone is my common sense,
missing your face.
Those pearly white teeth
in a smile’s shape
overtaking my thoughts.
Am I a bad person?
My motives, blurry and unclear.
Just an odd need
for a small nod, message
or means of expression
telling me you remember
and from time to time,
feel this way too.

We still live in the past, somewhere,
cuddled up on my dingy, old loveseat
waiting for take out to arrive.
Those younger versions of us
seeming far more interesting
than the people we’ve become.
Back then, we walked tight ropes
at great heights, without fear
so in love with lust
and carefree jumps
that we landed on our backs;
the spine of a story book, cracked.

Had this gone further,
you’d pay our bills on time,
and I’d take the garbage out.
We’d both stare at our phones
with nothing left to say.
I’d blow smoke rings
and grow every shade of resentful
as I watched them disappear,
attempting to wish you away
on every stray eyelash
and a blinking starscape
because we both know
you’d cheat on me
as easily as you cheat at beer pong

or a game of Twister
my left foot on envious green
my cheeks and face in heated red
your clothes on the floor of my close friend
as dirty laundry gets aired
without a thought spared
as if nothing is sacred
and everyone grows apart

Instead, I am relieved
to microwave these leftovers
without you
as they become an odd metaphor for you and I,
and this way I sometimes miss you.
Remembering, we were hellfire heat in places,
yet completely stone cold in others.
Days later, stale and dried out,
saved for too long
and consumed out of habits
that dab the palette with regret,
left sick to our stomachs.

I imagine you telling your husband
about your tiresome day
and him feeling like he
is taking a bullet for me,
clutching a couch pillow to his chest
like a kevlar vest.
I twirl Lo Mein noodles onto my fork
and feed them straight to my beagle
as she wags her tail, uncontrollably.
I should have eaten this meal cold
and never tried to warm it back up.

It’s just never the same again.