Truth is I’ve known since November,
you wouldn’t bring just a friend home
to celebrate your favorite holiday.
(I remember which one of your cousins is the family photographer).
It’s just that I hadn’t really seen a picture of you
You’re usually better at hiding your lovers
like a robber that’s cased the store and knows
exactly where to keep his head down and back turned.
Does this mean you think she’s the one?
Maybe it’s just because you’re too happy
to care anymore about what people think about your partners.
Maybe I just wanna feel like I mattered more to you
than I’m sure I didn’t.
Sometimes I feel like I was just
something new you tried on for awhile
like a top that wound up looking better on the hanger
than in the mirror.
But, that makes you sound cold
And I honestly don’t believe you are.
Sadness just tends to paint everything black that used to be in color.
It’s my own fault for checking up on you.
I tell myself it’s because I want to know that you’re okay,
see proof that you still exist in the world,
like a security blanket or favorite place
I like to picture myself being when my eyes close.
Most of all it’s because I miss your face
but can only handle seeing it every few months now
like weight on a scale.
I should be happy for you in any case,
And perhaps I will be
just as soon as I’m done being childish with jealousy
and utterly devastated.
It’s not that I want you to be alone forever,
you absolutely should have someone
and I sincerely hope that you’ve learned how to let yourself be loved
the way you deserve, but refuse to believe.
It’s that I wanted it to be me
I hope that she’s adventurous and attentive,
But sometimes I like to imagine that she’s a little dumb because she blonde
And occasionally overdramatic since she’s a dancer.
I hope she’s got a good sense of humor and tells you stories that make you smile
when you’re having a rough day.
But I also like to pretend that she has terrible taste in music
and a laugh that embarrasses you in public.
I hope that she’s wise and will teach you something about trust and how to talk about your feelings wherever I failed.
But then I hope that she cares too much about material things
and never reads.
I should be happy for you either way.
And maybe soon I can be,
Once my heart stops breaking
like bits of shattered glass
you’re never really done picking up.