it’s late and i am thinking
of the voicemails i never left you.
all the time i never spent pleading
with your machine.
the fight i did not put up.
the difference it would and would not
the last time i saw a meteor shower
i thought about the taste of your shampoo
and how your hair might look
pooled on my pillowcases again. even after
we hated the sound of each other’s voices
i still wouldn’t have minded
pulling your hair
from the shower drain.
but you don’t know that.
are you not supposed to have to fight
for the things that fit together
or did we not fit together
because i spilled all my fight
the first time you looked at me
with pity instead of love?
i like to think it doesn’t matter.
i like to think one day i will have stories
that don’t all start with your name.
i like to think i’m over it.
i like to tell myself that i wasn’t
really in love with you but even on the months
i forget to pay my credit card bills,
i still remember to check your horoscope.