one month.

i don’t really think about you much.

not anymore.

we’ve both moved on.

i have him.

and you, well,

you moved onto her before

you were done with me.

and still,

tonight, of all nights,

i thought of you.

it’s been a month if you add two

only two days.

a month since you held me

and we watched the sunrise,

said our first and last goodbyes

a month since my last taste

of bitter sweet alcohol bottle mouths.

and i will admit, it hurts a little.

you told me you were sorry.

that you just didn’t know how

or what to tell me.

i’ll tell you.

an apology is honest.

you are not.

tell me to my face

that i’ve been replaced.

and that, dear, is all it takes.

i listened, just for fun

(the kind that makes your stomach

tighten up hard and beg for the sun.)

to the songs we shared

before falling asleep,

holding hands.

i thought you were mine to keep.

now, i’m nursing a rough

and raw face.

from another man.

from kissing him, and

lying under the stars with him.

but a month ago,

plus three short, short days

i was nursing a rough

and raw body.

from you.

it still makes my toes curl.

to think of what we did.

feet away from the bed

where i’m sure some

of your beasts have been bedded.

it really wasn’t all that magical.

neither of us could sleep.

we went at each other for hours

and your stomach hurt so i

rubbed your back, and kissed you.

when i got home, i realized my clothes

smelled like urine,

and whatever alcohol i spilled

all over my lap after the first time

i had ever kissed you, that night.

you went home.

missed church,

but had a purple neck.

ugly, a whore’s signature.

but you promised, you assured

me that it was fine.

you looked like you’d been attacked.

you had.

but then again, i suppose that i

too had been.

it has been a month,

in two days.

and i miss you a little.

not enough to want you back.

because we both have

what we were looking for.

for me, i have honesty.

i have a nice smile,

and gangly limbs that

have the tendency to

pull me towards them.

and you?

i’m not quite sure what you have.

or what you wanted.

only that it wasn’t me,

and for that,

i think i’m a little glad.

i am soon to light up

the last cigarette that

will remain the finality of an addiction

until, of course,

i get my groping hands on another.

all we did was fight and kiss.

the latter is all that i’ll miss.

goodbye, friend.

i’m so glad we saw the end.