I came home for the weekend and realized i am still in love with you.
i don’t know why this came as a shock,
because this happens every time i come home.
especially in the autumn.
nostalgia really hits,
and i find myself walking in the neighborhood you held my hand in,
going to the cemetery you kissed me in
and driving by your neighborhood on the way to get coffee.
i guess i feel pathetic more than anything-
repeating to myself
“it doesn’t feel like two years ago. i can still feel your breath on my neck.”
i don’t tell my mother-
but that doesn’t hide the fact i was crying in my bedroom.
when the weekend is over, i find myself slugging to my dorm room, without a thought of you in my mind.
autumn is almost over.
i wont be home for another three weeks.
i repeat this to myself as i walk to get a cup of coffee.
pour over.
dark roast.
anything to make me feel warm and fuzzy.
something bitter.
my soul was pastel purple when i met you,
the perfect combination of blues and reds.
now it is a dark navy blue,
i smoke a cigarette on the way back,
i wonder which one would be easier to give up.
as i open the door to my room nothing feels familiar,
my bed has held people who are not you-
they were supposed to make forgetting easier.
they didn’t.
i turn on my bathtub
and stick my feet in long enough to burn my skin
your favorite song plays on repeat inside of my head,
i look at the coffee sitting next to me-
and wonder-
i take off the lid and pour it onto my head,
it slowly flowing off the edges of my face,
filling my nostrils until it’s all the room smells like-
i don’t feel anything,
no warmth-
no fuzziness-
you were all those things-
you - burned my skin when you touched me.
i remember all the times i said no,
but the coffee surged onto my scalp anyway.
you fill the room,
this is how i remember not to miss you.