it's just

that I hope macaroni and
cheese makes you miss me
and that you'll be downtown
and drive by my building and
see my car and feel an ache in
your chest because you are not
allowed inside anymore and
that your hands can barely
play all those songs you wrote
about me at your shows and
that the book on astronomy I
gave you glares at you from
the shelf and that no one will
kiss you like I did, no one will
make you shiver like I did, no
one will light a fire inside of you
like
I
did.