...And on those nights when the moon is as full as the sheets are empty,
I wonder if what he really felt was love.  
I wonder how the moon can be so completely filled with light
and never question whether it's really even light at all.  
I wonder if when he said it he meant it.  
Maybe he meant something else entirely.  
I wonder if the realization hit him years later
and I wonder if he thought I was worth telling.  
I wonder if my face popped into his mind
and I wonder if he thought about looking up my address
or if he'd ever driven past the old apartment.  
I wonder if I was worth the gas money,
if remnants of my body smothered in nostalgia
were worth those few extra dollars.  
I wonder if he ever thinks about it.  
I wonder if he questions what he didn't do .  
Did he realize what he meant
when his phone would buzz at three in the morning
and I'd be sitting on a sidewalk somewhere in the heart of the city
wanting him to take me home?  
Did he realize what he meant
when the candles were lit
and dinner was made
and I would plead with him
and my hair would be tangled in his hands,
but he was too tired to go further?  
Did he realize what he meant
when he couldn't say it back until the right time,
but the right time wasn't until warm mornings
when he'd still be half asleep
and my whispers wouldn't let him continue
so he said what he needed to?  
I wonder,
I wonder.  
I wonder why I didn't realize it
I wonder when he thinks of me.  
When the sheets are empty?  
When my old candles are finally burned down the wick?  
When the coffee *** collects dust in the cabinet?  
Does it make him wonder what I meant to him?  
Does he even realize?