Tag: love

hello old friend

it’s been quite a while
since our paths have crossed.
you seem different
than how I remember you –
smaller, shabbier, and sallower – but
I don’t think you
actually changed. it’s more
that I see you with new eyes.
I’ve changed, and
what used to fascinate me
no longer holds the same appeal. I’m
not sorry, because
we were doomed anyway,
and I no longer need or want
there to ever be an us.
I’m glad that I can now
appreciate what you can offer
as a friend, instead of
languishing over someone
who could never have
been more than that.

On This Day

two years ago today
I was embroiled in a non-affair
that was going nowhere
fast. we were so coded, hidden
in plain sight, that there are
no pictures of us together,
there are no tags
for me to hide or remove,
no way for me to protect
myself from this invasion
of memory: just
a picture of myself
on the stage that you lit –
where I was singing a song
to an audience of ten people,
hoping you would get the secret
message in the lyrics – but still,
against my will, I remember.
I remember that outfit
I wore, and the obscene
comment you made about it,
trying to throw me
off balance, and I remember how
I didn’t answer.

how is it
that something so ephemeral
can be so unwarrantedly,
unwantedly real? you were
crazy, and you made me crazy
with you, and I don’t thank Facebook
for reminding me
of what happened
on this day.

the shipper

there’s a lady here
who I’ve only met
once before. she knew you
before we even met.
her name is Jennifer
or Laura or Mary –
not Sue. we bonded
instantly and she said
she would come to my
show, but despite
an email reminder,
she never showed.

she was one of the many
who saw how we
bantered and said
we made a good
couple, even though
we weren’t. she got a
Moonlighting vibe
from us. she
shipped it.

welp, the writers fucked up
our storyline, and
now I’ve got a new
love interest. so
much better for me
than you. I’d love
to introduce her to him,
but I can’t for
the life of me
remember
her name.

those noodles

they’re amazing. so
good. and yet, in
the end, he still left.
he loved her, and
she did everything
right. but
she didn’t seem
to need him anymore.

he didn’t see
the way she looked up
as if missing him already,
as if she sensed the
finality in the deliberate way
he walked out the door. and
she didn’t see
the way he smiled
with pride and eyed
the line of customers
waiting outside
the newly revamped
noodle shop, which
somehow became
famous mere moments
after serving her first
customer.

he told himself
she’d be fine
without him.
she had her
childhood friend
to look after her,
and her shop to run
and her boy to
take care of.

so he hit the road.
with no reason
to mentor her,
no excuse to be
near her, it was
the last thing
he knew how to do.

far away, so close

do you understand that
the reason I don’t write
about you that often is
because you’re right here?
I can just tell you flat out
whatever I want to say.
there’s no need to couch
my thoughts in poesy, or
think of some mildly
clever angle. it’s just direct
communication.

there are others whom
I have complex constellations
of feelings towards, which
sometimes provides me
with a message to put
into this glass bottle.

but if you recall that poem
I wrote – before we were even
an item – in which I said
that there are only two things
that inspire me: rage and
unrequited love, you’ll know
that you don’t want
to be the subject of my poems,
baby. that would mean
we were breaking up.