I’ll keep wearing your sweatshirt to sleep just because it’s what you’d hate for me to do. That, and it’s all I’ve got left. When I am sad, I remind myself that you’re still coming back home for it, and maybe for me too.
*******
At night over the phone while we wish it was normal to fall asleep to the sound of our breathing, I think about how much I wish I could whisper that I love you. My chest aches when you say my name delicately, with so much hope that I am still on the other side. You tell me you love me and that I’m beautiful and instruct me to say something sweet so you can have a pretty dream about me. Nothing comes to mind immediately other than another proclamation of love. One that reminds you I love you more than you’ll ever know. You tell me that’s too sad, but at least it helped you sleep.
When we talk I like to tell you that I am doing so much better just to feed into your narrative that I am much happier (you seem to refuse contradictions on that point)—I’ve got friends and I’m not hesitant to talk to them alone or in groups anymore—but I go out with them mostly just to pass time. They know how it feels to be left alone when you really shouldn’t be, so I get to tag along wherever they go. It’s temporary, we all are in agreement on that and on the fact that I think about you all the times I am talking. I have three things I talk about with my friends: lesson planning, journal swaps and being crafty, and you. I’d rather be watching the game or laughing at trivia night or watching a bad play with you there too.
*******
I can’t come home yet, it’s only been a few weeks, but I fantasize about the day that the knocking at my neighbors’ door is you, standing teary eyed, waiting for me to answer. You honestly can’t expect me to let go of that hope even though it disgusts you. What I want most is to be wrapped up in you again, but this time not so tight. I’ve enjoyed the air you forced me to come up for recently. I say this all in the least desperate way; I simply miss knowing you’d for sure be around and I miss knowing I am yours. We never had the strongest bones but I am in love with you the most out of all the people and I am scared of the day you’ll leave me for a second time. I miss you picking eyelashes off of my cheeks to let me make mundane wishes about wiener dogs. Recently, I make you pinky promises so I can feel your fingers between mine.
When you remember someday that I am supposed to be yours and you are supposed to be mine, that our cheeks were made to be pressed against each other, come tell me. Come knock on the door no matter the day or time or even if you are worried there might be someone else better for me somewhere out there or that we will fail again for a third (maybe it would be a fourth?) time. Pull me in close like you did last Sunday night and don’t let go this time. Tell me you’re in love with me, not just that you have love for me, and that I am the most beautiful girl you’re lucky to know. Apologize another time for good measure. Stay the whole night for a change, maybe some of the next day too. Touch my face, press your forehead to mine so our noses can kiss too, remind me you haven’t forgotten the way we let each other feel.
Don’t you miss calling me your baby?
