and you find me sailing in the skies on a cloud of forever
and if you find me on a maple leaf flowing in the fall wind
and if you find me along the tides of the Atlantic clinging to the rocks
and if you find me dancing with the man on the moon
and if you find me riding the glowing rays of sunrise
and if you find me as the daisy growing in your rose garden
and if you find me on the tip of your nose as spring tickles your spirit
and if you find me crossing your mind when you feel that sudden chill
that makes you shiver

find comfort
and know that it indeed is
me

But who will remain
to fill the spaces
between my fingers?

i tried to write an open letter to your new girlfriend. i sat for hours, writing draft after draft, typing over backspace after backspace, all in vain. i realized at the end of it, i had no words for her. i had no wistful compliments, or tips dipped in nostalgia, or even warnings -- i realized none of those are mine to give. i remembered that there have been at least a dozen girls between me and her; you are no longer mine to giveaway. i am no longer the ex. i was never really the ex, but i am no longer the anything. i'm a girl you used to know. years ago. a girl you'll come across in the yearbook, decades from now, and blink -- was that really her name? you'll swear to yourself that it was more beautiful, back when you moaned it in my ear. you'll show me to your kids, or even your wife, laughing and saying there's my high school . . . you'll pause and stick-in the word 'girlfriend' because it's the closest thing that fits, but we both know better. i was never your girlfriend, i was just your ******* girl.

there is no fondness to this story. there is nothing for you to tell your kids, unless you're ready to ******* jade them; there's the girl who starved for me in year nine, there's the girl who didn't say she loved me until it was over, there's the girl who couldn't function with or without me.

there's your girl. one of your girls. a notch in your belt. now that i think about it, maybe you'll just flip past me in the yearbook. and maybe, if we ever see each other again, all you'll do is blink.

though we are mere specks
on the globe each one of us
so significant

and leaving all the you --
the sweatshirts
and the cologne
and the memories --
on the curb.