that’s what she said we had.
I’m chuckling to myself at the absurdity of the word.
The irony that while we were outside she told me that it was obvious,
to everyone but you,
that I had a crush.
She’s sitting across from me in the booth at Luca’s and gushing about
“You know those pictures of couples they have in frames already?”
She asks, eyes wide.
“Like in Housewares?”
“That’s you and him. You were always smiling like that at each other.”
(I’ll be honest here,
I feel foolish if that is how we looked at one another.)
I have let my mother down yet again.
I hope you know it pains me when I disappoint her.
She thinks I can’t let go,
as stated before,
because I am running my mouth about him
in order to not talk about you.
To not obsess over you,
like I have done for the past five months.
70 poems and such.
I told you before you were my crutch.
You told me before I think too much.
I’m observant enough to know
Your eyes never lit at the sight of me.
I am sitting in the middle of my living roomfloor,
Parade of Nations playing on TV,
and I am crying,
and asking why you did what you did to me.
Why does it still matter to me?
Why does it hurt so much that you left me?
Why didn’t you ever come back and say anything?
And my mom,
just looks at me.
And I can tell I look a mess
because she smiles gently,
“You wanted him to be the one,”
Her eyes are sad as she tells me.
Oh, my love,
you certainly wrecked me.
You broke me.
and ran from me.
(I thought you promised I couldn’t push,
or scare you away,
even if I tried.
but I can’t run fast enough
to catch you.)
She’s looking at me across from the candy counter.
“You had something.”
But certainly not,
I choose to believe not
anything even close enough
to be considered: