Does my face appear in a crowd when you can’t find anyone else? Does your thumb open Snapchat by memory, waiting for my name to pop up? Do you think about that night when you lie in bed, alone, skinless, when there’s no one around? Does your sweater still smell of my perfume? Does your wallet still stow away my photo? Do you hesitate before saying my name like it’s a curse? Do all of your songs drip with my name? Do you even remember me at all?

I remember a dream from years ago, a You that smiled at me across a crowded room, and a Me that smiled back. A Me that wasn’t afraid to be honest. A You that deserved the world and a Me who deserved You. Those people are as gone as the wind, no more real than the sound of your name ringing in my ears. I remember You, but I want to meet You again.

I don’t remember what happened before the accident. All I have is this ache in my chest as this translucent image of a me in love with a you. It’s not really me, and it’s not really you, but what’s between them is real. It was real, once. Now it’s fading like a dream, gone as fast as it happened, flying from my lips like trying to kiss the wind.

In another life, another room, another morning, I would have smiled back at your crooked teeth and your frizzy bangs. I would have grabbed your hand as we walked, held it so tight my fingers would go cold. I would have said something different, something that would make you fall in love with me. Then you would smile at me. You would hold my hand. You would have said yes, and I would have asked in the ******* first place.

I threw a penny into a wishing well
and whispered a wish between my lips
so quiet that only the water could hear me.
The plop-splish of the penny breaking the still surface
reminds me that the well wasn’t listening anyway.

There’s this cut between my fingers, slit where my first and middle fingers web; it still hurts. Sometimes I forget it’s there, the sharp pain not even a memory, until I mindlessly stupidly open my hand, I remember why I kept it closed. When it bleeds I let it, watch the warm rusty red flow onto the carpet, think about all the reasons I’ve bled lately. I don’t remember how I cut my hand, but anything before it feels a lifetime away.

The laptop power light flashes on and off,
bright then dark, about three heartbeats in
between. Blood rushes to my face, my ears,
as my eyes dart at it. In your sleep, it talks to me.
It tells me everything you won’t, and when it
talks to me I know that what it says is true.
Can I say the same about you?

I cut my own sandwich into
fourths. I think I do it better
than you ever could.

I’d rather watch you
watch fireworks than
watch fireworks.

I have already
forgotten the way you used
to look at me, love.

You were a shooting
star to me. I loved you with
fleeting, burning haste.

I am not the hands
that held me. I am my own
hands, scars, and bruises.

I thought you were my
soulmate, but now I think you
have no soul at all.