we have gotten used to sharing everything:

when I left home

I decorated my walls

with artifacts from our epoch.

you decorated yourself

with artifacts from my epoch.

I told myself that our shared history could make us closer

but I couldn’t get past

your present-

you gave me your clothes-

a crop top that showed too much of your waist

shorts that hung on your hips wrong

now whenever I get dressed

I think of your waist

my wasted chances

I think of him

hanging on your hips right

of fitting your curves:

 

I am oscillating between

wishing I never loved him

and wishing I didn’t love you-

wishing I was home

and wishing you weren’t mine.

 

It seems all I do is wish anymore.

I am forever knocking on wood

as if I am stranded on a stranger’s doorstep,

I am making stars twirl and rotate

as they wait for me to decide

what I want

you to tell me

 

He will never be my lover

You will always be the one

who I’ve shared all my memories with

You are the one

who knows my selves

You are the one

who’s been the most selfish.

I love the version of you

who isn’t his lover.

He loves the version of you

who is my best friend

forever

is a strange concept:

 

I remember talking to you once

about how things didn’t last:

how I would love

based on my self at that very moment

please

do not pretend to me

that you love the same way

you did when you loved me.

more than anything else

I miss you,

but you are not missing from me.

I am not French-

kissing the boy

who wanted to kiss you

loving the boy

who could never love me

back and forth

I miss the tides’ pull

so much that I am leaking salt water.

I miss you

so much that you are seeping through everything that could be new.

how could I think that my present could escape our past?

how could I want it to?

 

I put on your crop top

and your shorts.

I try to not think of them as hand me downs

or hand-outs.

I try to think of them as your memories

as mine.