you come around seldom but hard, hard, and bright when you do

like a comet (or so they say, I’ve never really seen a comet but imagine it’s much like this)

the months in between

I forget your name

I forget the way we loved

but not the way you called me over for sex after the break up

and things kind of felt the same, like a glitch or so

except my things were no longer living here

I am living here but only in this moment

more to say that I am here and I am alive

and there is a deadline coming and I will still be alive

but not here

living somewhere else

where you won’t sleep next to me

or dance in the tiny washroom to Hall & Oates as I fix my makeup

or fuck me on the tiny work out bench thats swallowed by your not so big room

which says miles about this arrangement

and your priorities

and how you’re choosing to live alone

when you come back around it’s never deliberate

it’s never fist to wall

it’s in a dream

They say (implying They know anything)

that when a loved one dies, they can visit you in your sleep

or dreams, for a less invasive term

that heaven, or whatever it is you believe envelopes you when you die,

opens it’s gates and allows you to pop through a few thoughts

it happens seldom but when it does

I awake knowing I’m in trouble

feeling like I forgot to do my taxes

or I’m already late for work

or my mom has passed too

I’ll wait in silence

maybe a shiver

looking over my shoulder

over, over

waiting for the storm to come

I should board up the windows or

wrap my blanket around me

except I cant do my job that way

so I go to work

talk to the new girl

only to find out

she’s not

I’ve known her for four years

I’ve heard her name whispered through the gap in your teeth

back when we lived together

actually lived together

not just existing on the same plane

and now she and I are speaking

wasting time by a server station

words spill out of my mouth like an exploding soft drink

(they’re all over the floor now and rolling into the basement)

(how the fuck am I gonna clean this up)

I say: he was the only person i’ve ever loved

(though I am only twenty and my life thus far is so small in the grand scheme of this big gross world)

but this is just conversation

just wasting time until I’m allowed to go smoke and think of reprieve

she’s small and quiet and full of heart I can already tell

I already know

she says: I’m going to see him tomorrow, I have to tell him i met you

I swallow whatever spit is left in my mouth

I reach for the napkins behind us

she means well

but she will light a match to a gas fire

and torch him

and he we laugh while he’s looking at the ground

or her work shoes

and take it with grace

and go home tomorrow night

(not our home but his)

and I will not hear from him

not tomorrow

not ever

I’ll do my laundry on my off day

I’ll unboard the windows

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