Sometimes
I look up at the moon and pretend
that you're looking up too, smiling back
at me, like nothing ever changed.

- that you still only remember the good
and laugh at the funny, your aftershave
lingering on my sweater after
you pulled away

- that you'd still brush the crumbs from your lap
of the cookie we shared,
bathing in the morning sunlight
of the park the quiet morning,
telling stories that
mingled with the rays

- that you look back at the drafts of
the letters you wrote me,
six neon pages of painstakingly
handwritten loops, and remember my
giggles when I had read the letter
a hundred miles away but hearing your voice
so closely in my ear, whispering
each word

Tonight the moon is no different -
He doesn't know how things have changed.
But I do, and yet I pretend,
staring intently up into the night sky,
like nothing ever changed.