Wake up with a thought that’s supposed to be sad:

someone always waiting for something, or

the fact that most of the things you thought to be true

weren’t actually true;

but neither of these inspire sadness

just images of rain-soaked parking lots

a blank sign pointing down a road once there

the blood that made it all the way from your feet

to your fingers that searched for my hand

only to find it tucked in my pocket

I’m not sure that I can look at you any longer

without it turning into meaning, which is a poem

you could love me or hate me or both

or you could be a coward and do neither

or you could be a coward and love me still

even when I’m leaving my hair all over someone else’s pillow

or sitting on a back porch feeling as if I’ve already left the party

I’ve once heard a chorus of you once saying, “You ruined my life”

I’ve seen you leave and not known if you’d return

I’m not always sure what you mean when we argue

but what you said about me was true: I’m always somewhere else

but how hard it is to be anywhere else

because I know how it feels to watch you through a foggy window

while you’re oblivious of my gaze

I know how it feels to eat breakfast with your bowl and spoon

thinking about all the other times you’ve licked this spoon

I know how it feels to shower with you

desiring to watch you every time you’ll ever bathe

and then nakedly climb into your bed while it rains the whole time