Root beer has a particular taste, I only
liked it with ice cream. You were the first
person I’d met over the age of eleven
that loved it. We’d always share drinks,
and you didn’t care what I liked.
I had a date recently who laughed
when I ordered such a childish soda.

At twenty years old, I needed total darkness
and silence to fall asleep. But you.
You needed the television on, or maybe
you had no preference, and just liked
to bicker. I’ve been sleeping with it on
for over a year now. My lullabies
rerun the theme songs of nineties sitcoms.

My back hasn’t cracked since February
of last year. It’s not your fault.
I’m not sure if I don’t ask someone
else to do it because I’m shy, or
because I want that pleasure to
exclusively come from you. I’ll admit
I miss you whenever my back aches.