Brookyln Nine-Nine flashes across the screen of my laptop
I wonder if this show makes you think about me
Because even the obnoxious theme song reminds me of
That oversized, purple couch I will never sit on again ,
The Christmas tree you hosted in your living room until March,
Or the pictures that your daughter drew, strung up on the wall next to the sign you bought reading
“You Are My Sunshine”
I wonder if you ever bought that gray sectional,
Or put the tree up extra early this year
Or moved that sign to your daughter’s bedroom door
Every cheesy one-liner Andy Samberg says
Leaves the words you left lonely
In the back of my head.
You were right, that night
When I drove south to a familiar nowhere
To see an open door with your lopsided grin.
You were right,
I think I did love you.
I promised myself I would not let the memory of you ruin this television show.
But I find it hard to watch,
I find it hard to think,
I find it hard to know that I must coincide with the inability to know
how you are
or who you are
Anymore.
Rumors tell me about the weight you’ve lost,
And how the speckled gray now covers nearly all of your freshly shaven head.
I know that your skin would not have slowed to wrinkle with mine,
but I cannot help but roam around the unknown of you and I.
Our episodes did not end
With a bittersweet goodbye or a tragic farewell,
The cliffhanger too skewed to draw conclusions from
A forgettable ending to a promising pilot.
We were not a series.
I did not make the finale.
Life is not a network sitcom
I cannot watch the scenes of your life that proceed without me
As much as I want,
Your existence didn’t cease when your credits rolled to me.
And with every memorable scene we did share,
I am thankful that it did not broadcast on NBC.
Apr 14, 2020
Apr 14, 2020 at 8:45 PM UTC
Brookyln Nine-Nine flashes across the screen of my laptop
I wonder if this show makes you think about me
Because even the obnoxious theme song reminds me of
That oversized, purple couch I will never sit on again ,
The Christmas tree you hosted in your living room until March,
Or the pictures that your daughter drew, strung up on the wall next to the sign you bought reading
“You Are My Sunshine”
I wonder if you ever bought that gray sectional,
Or put the tree up extra early this year
Or moved that sign to your daughter’s bedroom door
Every cheesy one-liner Andy Samberg says
Leaves the words you left lonely
In the back of my head.
You were right, that night
When I drove south to a familiar nowhere
To see an open door with your lopsided grin.
You were right,
I think I did love you.
I promised myself I would not let the memory of you ruin this television show.
But I find it hard to watch,
I find it hard to think,
I find it hard to know that I must coincide with the inability to know
how you are
or who you are
Anymore.
Rumors tell me about the weight you’ve lost,
And how the speckled gray now covers nearly all of your freshly shaven head.
I know that your skin would not have slowed to wrinkle with mine,
but I cannot help but roam around the unknown of you and I.
Our episodes did not end
With a bittersweet goodbye or a tragic farewell,
The cliffhanger too skewed to draw conclusions from
A forgettable ending to a promising pilot.
We were not a series.
I did not make the finale.
Life is not a network sitcom
I cannot watch the scenes of your life that proceed without me
As much as I want,
Your existence didn’t cease when your credits rolled to me.
And with every memorable scene we did share,
I am thankful that it did not broadcast on NBC.
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