Lost in my make-up bag in the second drawer of my dresser
is that pale pink lipstick I forgot and made you turn around for the night of your friend’s wedding
where we showed up after the bride had already walked down the isle.
Somewhere in the depths of my car hidden
under countless grass stained blankets and empty bottles is that shirt you let me wear
that I forgot to give back after your best friend tripped
and covered me in a mix of Vlad and Red Bull only an hour after we got to the party.
Behind the first door to the left on the third shelf in the bathroom closet
is an extra toothbrush you keep for me to use when I forget mine every Saturday night.
Buried in your wallet underneath your driver’s license in a secret pocket
is a $20 bill you keep for unplanned trips to that little ice cream shop
that doesn’t accept credit cards to pay for my brownie sundae because I forgot
my wristlet back at your apartment.
Concealed in one of the basement cabinets of my parents’ house
is the anniversary present I spent more than a weeks-worth of late nights up working on
but forgot to give you because we spent that whole day in the hospital
with your grandfather who died a month later.
Locked on my computer behind multiple different passwords and codes
disguised in folders and files with ordinary but unrelated names are hundreds of snip-its
jammed with emotions of regret, lust, and jealousy
that I forgot to send because you always bought me daisies from that tiny flower shop
you knew I loved.
Laying in your bed late at night wrapped in just that fleece blanket I gave you
waiting for you to get out of the shower is the girl you forgot to tell me about.
Dec 8, 2016
Dec 8, 2016 at 12:07 AM UTC
Lost in my make-up bag in the second drawer of my dresser
is that pale pink lipstick I forgot and made you turn around for the night of your friend’s wedding
where we showed up after the bride had already walked down the isle.
Somewhere in the depths of my car hidden
under countless grass stained blankets and empty bottles is that shirt you let me wear
that I forgot to give back after your best friend tripped
and covered me in a mix of Vlad and Red Bull only an hour after we got to the party.
Behind the first door to the left on the third shelf in the bathroom closet
is an extra toothbrush you keep for me to use when I forget mine every Saturday night.
Buried in your wallet underneath your driver’s license in a secret pocket
is a $20 bill you keep for unplanned trips to that little ice cream shop
that doesn’t accept credit cards to pay for my brownie sundae because I forgot
my wristlet back at your apartment.
Concealed in one of the basement cabinets of my parents’ house
is the anniversary present I spent more than a weeks-worth of late nights up working on
but forgot to give you because we spent that whole day in the hospital
with your grandfather who died a month later.
Locked on my computer behind multiple different passwords and codes
disguised in folders and files with ordinary but unrelated names are hundreds of snip-its
jammed with emotions of regret, lust, and jealousy
that I forgot to send because you always bought me daisies from that tiny flower shop
you knew I loved.
Laying in your bed late at night wrapped in just that fleece blanket I gave you
waiting for you to get out of the shower is the girl you forgot to tell me about.
