I leave a lit cigarette on the windowsill,
Watching the smoke float up toward the stars,
Like I’m summoning the spirit of a past love,
Because even if it was undesired and unrequited,
Something that fills the empty sound with music,
A cacophony of discordant sounds
Playing to a harmony that is a stranger
To the melody of my subtle heart.
Something that makes my skin feel tighter around me,
Makes me forget I’m sick every meal time,
And prepares food without asking if I’m hungry,
Acting like it’s normal even thought it’s not.
Something that makes the worries come back,
Midnight calls, slurred words and hangover amnesia,
Nightmares of childhood moments I don’t want repeated,
Wondering if I have a Freudian obsession with my trauma.
Something that makes the cracks in my own brain
Seem like a common affliction because compared to you,
Compared to all the fucked up trips and panic attack driven reunions
I’m normal enough to be the poster child for balanced living.
Yet as I sit with my knees up to my chest watching the smoke,
I know with absolute certainty that I don’t miss you,
I miss the fantasy of what we were that bright summer night,
When you made romance seem like it was something you loved,
And I got to find out you don’t even know what it looks like.