musk/frayed/for style

musky scent, wet hair after football practice, square shoulders, denim jacket that’s frayed at the edges, for style you said,

you are, have been for the longest time, my frequent trips up and down the office hallways. 3pm coffee breaks. both equally vital to my workday. at my best, i am your 1am drunken call. the joke here is that you don’t even drink. i nibble on your lies raw and tell myself they taste good. you joke about how i’m enjoying it, swallowing them whole, and i don’t understand because what’s so funny about trusting? i trip over my own feelings while you cage yours in a glass box and throw them off the 10th floor of your apartment building. the next morning they found glass shards near the garbage dump, which you never claimed.

they say i should stop giving pieces of my heart away to someone who never even looks over their shoulder for me anymore but for the most part, i can tell you miss me too. human brains are so weak, don’t you think? i convince myself missing tastes good but the brain mistakes it for emergency alert and it signals the eyes to start crying. the cheeks are wet but it’s not because understanding you was a chore; it’s because loving you never was.

you left four years ago yet whenever they ask me to describe home i will still say:

musky scent, wet hair after football practice, square shoulders, denim jacket that’s frayed at the edges, for style he said, aircon that’s set at 18°C, a disoriented heart because its other half walked out and left the door ajar.

Prompt: Warm blankets