Aside

Close counts only in horseshoes and hand grenades

and I don’t wish that we were now just that we weren’t ever

because its been a year and I’m still angry enough that

when I passed you the other day in target my heart beat faster and

my knees got wobbly and I realized again how much my life changed when you walked away.

It was like you, the sun and I, a blind man seeing light for the first time

dancing

one, two, three

in the warmth and then darkness so deep the only sight my eyes could knowledge was your hand in hers and mine, empty

see, its been a year

a rotation around that sun and

I haven’t felt warmth like that day dancing

its been a year and I see you and she are friends and

we went to coffee once like strangers

the car was stiff the space between us comfortably fitting the elephant that is your infidelity

and we shift glances back and forth because it is still 21 miles until you’re back home and

21 miles until I realize I don’t want to get to know you because what I thought I knew was a lie

a story with everyone else narrating, in on the joke.

Because that what I was to you, a punchline that had worn off its novelty far too long ago.

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