officially it has been two years,
unofficially one.

I am happier elsewhere, and I can imagine you are too
still you remain
my inspiration for poetry,
art,
and my thoughts.

when I see her there with you,
I am not sad,
and I am not not happy
mostly, I wonder —

do you think about me still?
do you compare her to me?
I did, I compared him with you

even though I promised to him and myself
that I wouldn’t

but the mind does what it wants

do you fight like we used to, loud and aggressive?
or does that require years of confidence built up by baby love

do you love like we used to, admittedly & comparatively selfish and shy?
or was that our teenage bodies remaining in us past our 20th

mostly I try to remember how being freshly loved by you was
so much intense frustration, in all ways,
endless giggles, but often nights with dawn sorrow.
of course, I need to remind myself that there was bad
my mind tries to only highlight the good with you

mostly I wonder how such intense fighters
could turn to such formal friends
and mostly, I am disappointed that you haven’t
told me about her yet.