When you left
I let go
Of him
And held onto the thought
Of you

Give me a reason to hate you.
Everyone's been pointing out flaws,
yet I'm banking on the maybe that you can prove them wrong.
I can't live in this back and forth cycle of
being all that you want,
and nothing at all.
I sit here listening to you sing and it fills up my empty,
but I guess I've been your nothing for a while now.
Now she's in your bed
and suddenly, I'm no longer in your head.
It seems I'm only on your mind
when there can be no one else instead.
People have stopped asking about you.
They used to be able to tell when I thought about you.
I think they still can.
Maybe, that's why they stopped asking.
They used to tell me to fly out tomorrow,
but now,
they're telling me I need to get laid.

Give me a reason to hate you.

I'm trying to find one now,
but when I look at you,
all I see is cocoa eyes.
And though diabetes runs in the family,
I think you're sugar free.
It's been **** near six months
and this bitter taste you've left hasn't faded,
even though you have.
It seems all signs that once pointed your direction
have turned away,
the last one being this ******* connection
that just won't fade.

I was in a car accident last month.

As the car spun, I saw your face.

I called to tell you that I loved you,

and you sent me to voicemail.

I woke up with a sinking feeling,
one I couldn't place.
You quickly told me you were drowning,
and it didn't take long for me to realize that
we were sinking fast.
It was then that I realized it'd be
weeks before I saw your face.
As you abandoned ship,
it hit me that there was only one life jacket between us.
You apologized as you left.
You made it to shore as
I was lost in the undertow.

We are sitting in your car, and we are quiet.
The sun has set and the only illumination is the streetlights of the city I've told you I wanted to show you since the day we met.
For once, we are not holding hands.
Three hours prior we were staring at one another across the top of a table at Qdoba and you assured me things were working out. You assured me that we could continue as we were. This wasn't goodbye.
I assured me you weren't forcing those words, yet three hours later, as we are leaving the city I never got to show you, you are not looking at me.
The day before I would not hesitate to say I love you.
The day before, I would not doubt your touch.
The day before, I explained to you that I do not say "goodbye" when planning to see someone again. "Goodbye" is too permanent a term, "goodbye" is when you can't promise you'll come back.
Now, we are sitting in my basement and you lie on the couch.
I am sitting on the floor.
You're looking at your phone as I look for something to watch on the TV, and you do not seem to care what.
I look for something for you.
As it plays and you watch, I watch how quickly we are fading.
My heart yearns to show to you that I believe we are worth this, but just like the sun faded from the sky and we were overcome by the night sky,
it seemed the light had faded from your eyes and you no longer saw the sky in mine.
I attempt to make my way beside you on the couch, and I soon realize that there's no longer room in your life for two.
I found myself memorizing each freckle on your face,
I found myself remembering the shades of blue your eyes kaleidoscope into when hit by the sun.
I found myself wondering just when they might see sun again,
as I could tell they no longer shone when looking at me.
It was then that I realized my heart was no longer full of love,
it was empty from the lack of reciprocation.
You looked at me as though I held the answers to everything you'd ever asked,
but I feel as though you quickly realized I was an issue, outdated.
You left about midnight.
I kissed you as you left, and I thanked you for coming.
You assured me it wasn't a problem.
I told you that I loved you,
and you told me you loved me, too.
You said "goodnight,"
and for the first time,
I said
*"goodbye."

as I lie awake beside you,
and you allow sleep to qualm your stresses from the day,
I'm suddenly very aware of the pillow underneath my head
and note how it feels nothing like my head on your chest.
I do not mind the firmness of your muscles,
or the heartbeat that echoes beneath my ear.
your warmth does what this overpriced spaceheater never could,
but still I keep my distance.
fear of getting too close almost rivals claustrophobia, in a sense.
I long to overcome the worries of having nowhere to go but your arms,
but I fear everything may crumble should I try to overcome it.
I do not want to push.
the walls are closing in on you,
and you insist I stay away.
I would take the risks and hold you closer
but I fear my arms would be too reminiscent of the world swallowing you.
i do not want to panic.
I do not want you to push back.
so I keep my distance.
so I lie awake beside you,
cursing my pillow for not feeling like your chest.
I worry the space between us under covers is not enough,
and if the couch is a better home for my worry.
you deserve the bed to yourself tonight.
though this room is vast and I cannot fight the chill this space heater can never seem to pummel,
I know I should not get too close.
while my fear is being alone,
that is what you long to be.

Some nights,
I think the few extra bites I take are helping me get better.

Some nights,
I look at the clock and realize it's already four in the morning and I'm nowhere near tired,
so I smoke another cigarette.

Some nights,
I wish that instead of lying in my empty bed,
I was lying in yours.

Some nights,
I allow myself to accept that I am not what you need,
and therefore,
I will not be yours.

Some nights,
I finally do sleep,
and I dream that I am everything you need,
and I wake up next to you,
and it's more than just a quick goodbye.

Some nights,
I think I'm better off alone.

Some nights,
I wonder if I will ever get out of this rut that I have been stuck in,
for however many years it has been,
and finally be good enough for someone.

Some nights,
I finally start to convince myself that I was good enough all along,
and maybe you were never enough
for me.

so I noticed that we both drink coffee.
just like anyone, we both like ours a certain way.
i like mine sweeter, with just the aftertaste of coffee there.
caramel, sugar, creamer.
i think about when i’ll have my next cup, and the idea of it alone makes me happy.
i don’t care what time of day i have it, i almost always have a cup.
i make time for my coffee.
it might be safe to say i think you like your coffee black.
you might add just the smallest touch to soften its bitter taste, but never too much.
sometimes i think you just pour it and carry on, as though it’s nothing important at all.
as though all it is, is just some quick fix.
like you just want to get it over with.
we drink it in two different ways.
i drink it slowly.
i note every flavor in every sip, i enjoy it.
i note the warmth it brings me.
i like it all hours of the day.
you drink it quickly.
quicker than me, at least.
you don’t care if it burns your tongue, or perhaps you’re used to the pain.
you accept it.
you never let it last, you move on to something else soon after.
i lay in your bed, watching your eyes as they skim the screen in front of you.
your mind is somewhere else.
i savor the moments you look my way, if even for a second, and smile at me.
i wonder if you even notice them.
i feel your laugh vibrate my bones, making the hair on my arms stand on end.
do i make you feel at all?
i reflect on it every time i drink my coffee.
i think about it with each and every sip, taking my time.
something tells me that you don’t do the same.
after all, it's just coffee.
but i put my all into this coffee.
i think you like your coffee black.