i want to ask you about your past,
but at the same time i don’t
because my stomach becomes
more knotted than my hair
after a long windy day at the beach
when thinking of a you
before me

i try to keep my mind from drifting
to the image of you holding her hand
and gazing into her eyes,
thinking about how her smile
is the reason
you smile

it hurts imagining
there was anyone before me
and i’m sorry,
because i know how unfair that is

i guess i’m just afraid
there was something in her
you’ll notice is lacking
in me