you'll know

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You'll know you've gone slightly mad when you see him in your morning coffee.
He has no resemblance to coffee other than the way he makes you anxious and the color of his skin.
You'll know when every green pick up belongs to him until proven unrecognizable.
You'll know when walking to the mail box reminds you of that stroll in the park. Where you scraped your elbow on the oak tree.
You'll know when you still look for the scar.
You'll throw away his shirt
and his toothbrush
and his sock.
His strawberry ice cream will spoil before you have the chance to binge your sorrow away.
You'll know you're lonely when you hover over his contact in your phone.
You'll know when you call your mom for a chat.
She asks what's wrong but you do not say.
She minds your sniffles and offers a cup of tea if you come visit.
You'll know you're okay when you roll over to his side of the bed and remember when you first moved in together. Ate takeout on the floor of your empty bedroom.
You'll see him.
With her.
And for the first time you're stomach won't lurch with heartache.
He will glance and smile.
A grateful smile.
And you'll do the same.
Remembering you prefer tea over coffee.

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