I still have it, the CD you made for me  
when we were young and dumb,  
and mostly honest

each song you selected  
hand written so carefully  
in fine tip marker  

I listen to the songs like each one is for me  
your words sung in someone else’s voice  
at least the parts about love  
the parts that I wish were us  

sometimes it hurts  
and sometimes it doesn’t  
and sometimes it feels like a hole in my chest  
like right now

it makes me wish I was your glory box
but instead you’re my sour times