Anniversaries

I was never able to spell that word. I always had my autocorrect or Google fix it for me. When we talked about our future May sevenths, I loved it. I visualized getting to see you, having our home, getting a ring, in my dreams and thoughts. I have headphones next to my keyboard, but writing about you brings a tunnel vision upon my mind. My thoughts of anger and annoyance mellow out like ointment on a burn. I can’t even visualize your face anymore, even when I see it almost everyday when I’m bored. 

Observing your digital presence is more of a compulsion than an itch. As if the string on our hands weren’t snipped by me, but just stretched. But it’s all over. I will never speak to you again. There is no “our”. There are no more May 7ths. No more portraits that you will make of me. No more sneaking around and risking my access in order to call you. I don’t have to hide you anymore. I have nothing to hide anymore. I don’t even need to hide your name in the second-person, because you are not me, Aurora. 

You don’t bother to stalk, Aurora. You get over things. You live in the present. You obsess over colorful shows and mundane people. Maybe that’s why I had a chance that night. Maybe the only way that I ever had the opportunity to have a lover was because of our immaturity. Maybe because all my life, I’ve been desperate for romance, for a true love. Whether it was in the form of an elementary boy with dark circles who hated me, a middle school girl with a mind too grown who had me on the side, or a fifteen-year old girl that lived 2,000 light years away and loved me with all her heart. 

I was your poet boy, your scribe. I’m freelance now, I suppose. I can write anything, I can detail my desires and my thoughts, I can say whatever I feel. You know that. But I can’t say the two words that I feel like I should. But then again, I’m blatantly over it and couldn’t give less of a fuck.

So happy three years.