there won't be a house,
picket fences,
or a pool

no stone house
in the italian countryside

no brownstones full of books

in fact,
there won't a future,
not for us,
and that's okay
(is what i tell myself)

at least
there's no shouting,
no hatred,
just
giving up

and that's fine
(is what i tell myself)

yes, i said goodbye
in a poem
six years ago
and now i'll have to say it again
i can do it
(is what i tell myself)

and maybe
one day
when all this is over
we'll be friends
(is what i tell myself)