I should cut my hair,
hair heavy with the memory of
your fingers running through it.
I should change my clothes,
so as not to think of you
taking them off
slowly while I lay
           on your bed.
I should buy new sheets,
ones without the trace of you.
I should change my music,
new sounds without the power
of bittersweet nostalgia
         sitting in the car with you.
I should replace the space in my heart,
the one that’s been reserved for you.
I should,
             I should,
                           I won’t.