"the ways in which i miss you but i shouldn’t are heavy ghosts in my small pockets: the old..."

the ways in which i miss you but i shouldn’t are heavy ghosts in my small pockets: the old neighborhood bar where we sat in the car until the windows were foggy and the streets were empty, greasy pizza boxes, the moon when its full, and the blue couch where you fell asleep on me and you were beautiful. sunlight kept me company as i tried not to disturb you, i think because i was closer to believing i was ready for love.

every adele song that finally makes sense, our star wars shirts, the windmill by the fence, three-to-five word conversations every week like nothing happened, the presents you gave me (i buried them in my closet) and movies - the list we might never finish. just like us: two vibrant and unruly celestial magnets pulled together for awhile, then pushed apart from within. i wish i knew what you carry.