Love Always, Me
It’s funny.
Really.
I thought I’d lost you
at least three times before.
Those times I thought I lost you,
I thought I was making things up.
I was hungry.
You were tired.
My mom always tells me that changes things.
It’s funny.
Honestly.
We hadn’t even known each other
more than a couple months.
I whispered the password.
You whispered it back.
What was it,
three days ago?
All last week,
you teased me,
laughed with me,
was happy with me.
Or at least pretended quite well.
It’s funny.
Seriously.
I knew it was coming.
I knew it wouldn’t last.
Because we were too different
and too similar.
We both lied,
kept secrets close.
We were both power hungry,
both careful.
It’s funny.
Hilariously.
I started to plan for the future with you.
Little things mostly.
A Halloween costume,
some nicknames,
what cake I would make for your birthday.
I let you talk like this was forever.
I let myself use those words.
I knew that would jinx us,
that would end things too quickly.
Because that’s how it works.
As soon as I start to get a plan,
the universe rears up
and pulls the slick rug from beneath my feet.
So I don’t plan.
I don’t speak like that.
Because I don’t want to take the chance.
It’s funny.
Actually.
Those times that I lost you,
my words dried up,
my poetry shut down
like a light switch turning off.
I whispered to myself
that you were my poems.
My poems were my soul.
It’s funny.
Weirdly.
I should feel broken
or empty
or sad.
I should feel loss.
But I feel like I’m waking up,
shaking my head,
the dream dripping quickly out of my mind.
You were a mirage,
an oasis,
a hallucination.
There’s no way to talk
without sounding upset
or like I’m fishing for compliments
or like I need you back.
It’s funny.
I promise.
Maybe I don’t know
what it means to love.
Maybe I thought
you would teach me.
Maybe you
were just an experiment.
Proof to myself
that this wasn’t for me.
And look at me now,
all worried about myself.
I’m not.
I’m scared for you.
Maybe I just don’t know
how to handle that fear.
So I turn in on myself,
focusing on what I can feel.
Maybe I’m just making excuses.
Maybe I’ll miss you,
not as a love,
but a friend,
and someone who
maybe,
just maybe,
saw more to me.
It’s funny.
Almost.
