I made myself into what I think you’d like.

I’d still have you any day, any way you come — all of you.

I hope you think of me the whole time.

Par exemple

The blank eyes, absentminded kisses,
falsed hugs, speaking silences,

Rough sex, hands-tied-heart-tight-hog-tied,
the tears from pain but I’ll swear pleasure

Perhaps he cares (but darling of course he doesn’t, I mean you can tell..)
listening to the good morning dings of other women

At least I imagine so, especially when you close your eyes
instead of looking into mine

I want to kiss away the frown between your brows
and make your morning coffee for the rest of our lives

The problem was that I didn’t make you happy anymore
the question is do I still not?

Last night, I surprised myself by missing you.

I saw a picture of you someone had uploaded and I almost wanted you back. Then I saw the cigarette in your hand that spoke of all the things you could never sacrifice for me - whether little or big, the superiority behind those smiling eyes, that pervasive flippancy embodied in that roguish haircut, the five-o-clock shadow beckoning me to trail my index finger through it, but, that I knew, once my skin came into contact with, would feel rough to touch, which, incidentally, quite accurately describes most of you.

Then I reminded myself of all the reasons why I closed my heart on you. I told myself that it was good. Then I closed that picture too, turned over, put my phone away, and went to sleep.

I did not dream of you.

But, as soon as I finish writing this, I will open that picture again, and look at that two-dimensional impression of you.