As I am lying in my bed,
I am trying not to think of you,
but all I can think about is
that twenty four hours ago
you were in this bed with me,
and that your pillow
is still crossing the halfway point
of my bed,
because you wanted
to be closer to me,
and I can't help but think about
the strands of your hair
that were in my bed
after you left this morning,
and I can't help but think about
your smell that is still
on my sheets
and I am wondering
if I need to switch bedrooms.

We sat on opposite beds
and talked about our future
and I think the word "scary"
was used a dozen times.
I told you the truth
about why I sometimes get sad-
about how everything seems
monotonous and irrelevant,
and you seemed like you hadn't thought of it that way,
but then you seemed like you really understood,
and I think it maybe even
made you a little sad.
I told you the truth
about why I get high-
about how I think so much
that it hurts and it's the only thing
that helps.
You agreed about
thinking too much,
and you told me that your mind
flows from one thought to another too quickly
and that sometimes
it doesn't take a break
and you have to take a moment
to catch your breath,
and then you felt silly
that you had admitted that,
and you shyly said "you know?",
and I nodded,
because I really do know.
I let you talk most of the time,
because I knew that
you needed it,
and because honestly,
I just really like
hearing your voice.
You left my arms too soon
because someone left something
in your car, and I could tell
that you were agitated,
so I tried not to let it hurt too badly,
and you apologized several times,
and then said you would
"talk to me very soon",
and I tried to believe you.