well, that didn't work: an autobiography

three

our first date and i spend it staring at my red nail polish.

red nail polish.

red nail polish.

and you act like you don't notice me picking two strands of hair out of my scalp when a loose one falls onto my lap.

and you ignore the way my words fumble in threes.

you ignore the way i tap my thumb three times.

tap my thumb three times.

tap my thumb three times.

and you watch intently as i slice tomatoes because because my mother always warned, "one cut turns into three, or more."

and you watch as i lock the house door three times.

three times.

three times.

and at 12:30 you beg for me to come to bed.

but i don't reply because you missed my name somewhere in that sentence and i force you to recite until the words flow better.

and ironically my favorite number ruined me

because three months later you got tired of loving me.

—three times a charm, right?