this is the part where I tell you that
on our first date, he set his table with candles to make it romantic and I thought it was,
but no. he tried
I knocked them into his flooding sink
I knew he hated romantics, and I wasn’t one.
he tried to hide it, but I saw his burned thumb

this is the part where I tell you
we played each other love songs and sang sugar pumpkin words
but we played on out-of-tune pianos in the practice rooms,
the ones with dusty white linoleum floors
because the cleaning lady was too lazy to walk up to the 6th floor every day;
the elevator was broken
broken love songs that neither of us would admit we meant.
maybe we didn’t know it ourselves
the wrong notes we hit were somehow grossly harmonic.

this is the part where I tell you that
he talked business and marketing with my father,
he made my mother laugh at ****** knock-knock jokes
he played catch with my little brother,
but he'd never do any of that.
he thought my mom was vain and my siblings were devil incarnations.

this is the part where I tell you
his handwriting was often indecipherable and I was the only who could read it,
but life’s not excessively beautiful
I hated his handwriting. I could never read it.
The n’s looked like h’s
and the a’s looked like o’s

this is the part where I tell you
he brought roses to my door just because it was Tuesday,
he snuck chocolates into my backpack
but he didn’t believe in gift-giving.

only one time, he showed up looking confused and
shameful,
he was holding a little toy train set
I'd played with them as a kid.
then, surprise! The box was filled with his sister's old Barbies
only half-dressed
like the ones I used to try and flush down the toilet,
I knew what he was trying to say
and slapped him upside the head,
*I love you too.