sometimes i pretend we're still friends.
our bodies tangling together
as i feel your breath pressed up to my cheek.
friends.
there is a daydream in your eyes.
I tell you you're beautiful.
my creative writing class has been forcing me to remember the past.
she says
"Write about an instance with someone you love or used to love."
the room stays silent
at first I hate it,
but by the end of it
I am writing your name with hearts around it on my paper.
I hate remembering.
I try to write about how I hate you.
no hearts on paper
but I don't.
i tried to hate you.
but then I remembered
Wes Anderson films
and first kisses
the sort of things that cover
bad songs and poorly worded excuses
and the secret site
I poured my thoughts to
the times it was worse than just "things are bad right now"
the bad times are still there.
i know you're bad for me.
but it doesn't matter.
I read poems from a girl who has the same name as you
i pretend it's you,
I feel like I am a part of you still
wish she was you.
I say your name in the mirror
until it doesn't sound real
and it will lose all meaning
and I repeat
"losing you wasn’t a loss"
"Losing you wasn't a loss"
and i try to hate you
I'm really trying
and i might
but the secret site is closed down
and i don’t go to it anymore
i kiss others to get the taste of you out.
i don’t think it is working.
their lips aren’t soft.
I stop talking to them days later.
i watch wes anderson movies alone.
the blankets cover my toes
as the tv flashes onto my face,
casting different shadows and lights
till I don't feel like I'm myself anymore.
i reach for your hand and it isn't there.
the space i occupy is empty.
so am I.
and I won't fall asleep
I don't want to dream about you anymore.