Somewhere between yesterday and tomorrow there’s I’m sorry.
Maybe I spent too much time loving you,
Instead of learning how to say goodbye.
I think that you are my way of pretending that the world isn’t ending.
Every day I find new ways to reopen this wound.
You have a new job, a new home,
A soon-to-be wife.
But I’m still here.
Sitting at the same coffee shop,
Drinking the same coffee in the same seat where I looked at you and knew
it was over
Long before you would ever admit it.
The only person I’ve ever loved
is marrying someone else.
Another one of my friends is dead.
Is this what happens once you turn thirty?
Everything is crop tops and awful.
Some days, I am a human being.
While on others, I am a hummingbird;
I never stay anywhere for long.
As I check to see if someone else’s fiancé has liked my photo,
I don’t think this is the beginning of the end.
I think it’s been the end for a long time now.
I am not sure when I became this afraid.
