August

I woke up this morning
and I was in love with you.
I had no idea it was possible
to grieve someone who’s still alive.
I felt you in the aches
of my fingers as I stretched.
My eyes stung as I yawned
and filled with tears for you.
And I promised myself I would
forget you once out of bed.
And so I brushed my teeth
and then I washed my face.
And then I let the dogs out
and then I made coffee.
And then I sat on the couch
with my mug and watched the news.
And soon enough I felt like
my lungs weren’t filled with you.
And suddenly it was 2pm
and I realized I hadn’t had lunch.
I left my work computer open
and I walked to the fridge.
And I decided to glance at my phone
as I decided what to make.
Naturally, I had a text from you.
It’s like you knew I hadn’t eaten.
And just like that, I was back,
sinking into the what ifs of love.
And all you did was send me
a reply to my text the night before.
But all I can think about is
how much we would’ve been talking.
I would’ve been distracted by you
instead of haunted by your ghost.
So I type something out
and I quickly hit send.
And suddenly making my lunch
doesn’t matter like it once did.
But I make something anyway
and get back to work.
And suddenly it’s evening
and it’s time to walk the dogs.
And I realize how tired I am
but the evening air is so warm.
And I see a bed of flowers
that I know you would’ve liked.
And I debate taking a picture
so you can see all the blooms.
And as I pull out my phone
I see a text from you.
You always know when my mind
is vulnerable, weak, willing.
And it’s just a reply to
my message from lunchtime.
But I realize immediately
I don’t even know what you ate.
Or if you’re working today.
Or the last time you laughed.
Or the current thing on your mind.
Or how your parents are doing.
But I quickly reply
and put my phone in my pocket.
And suddenly I am home
and it is not very late.
But I’m not sure how to fill
the three hours before bed.
And now you’ve sent me a voice note
because you’re walking somewhere.
I can’t tell by your voice
if you’re thinking about me.
And I hate that I’m wondering
if you’re thinking about me.
And finally it’s time to sleep
and I stretch out under the covers.
And I try very desperately
to think of anything but you.
Then I hear my phone buzz
I hope and hope and hope.
But it is not you texting me
because of our boundaries.
So I lay in silence and shut my eyes
and scold myself for hoping.
And as I drift off to sleep
I convince myself I am okay.
I convince myself that tomorrow
will be better and easier.
And finally I slip into a dream
and my fingers start to ache.