Thoughtful Things and Things I Thought

What Used To Be

Your lips quiver when you see her, the ghost of her breath after a kiss still haunts you.

She's walking with another man, the same one you've seen her with before except now she's holding his hand.

You try to look away, but at that moment her eyes sweep the hall and catch yours.

This is it, you think, the moment she'll come running back to you, and your arms ache with the memory of her between them.

But she walks past you, holding that man's hand and laughing at what he said.

And her silhouette still hangs in your room at night when you wake up and swear you heard her dreaming.

But your bed is cold, and next to you is plenty of space for her.

Her memory haunts you, a perfect picture of the love you could've had forever if you had just seen it.

And you tear up as you deny ever loving her, like the gash left in your heart wasn't left by her but by some phantom unseen.

And you sit alone, thinking of the way the sun shines off her hair and how her glasses sit slightly crooked on her face.

How your hands used to swallow hers when you held them, and how your head fit on top of her chest almost perfectly.

And the taste of her lips after sipping rum and smiling because once upon a time that was the only thing she would give you.

Your hands burn as you remember the feeling of gliding your fingertips over her skin, trying to make her giggle and hinting at the fact that you were horny.

The warmth of her hands as they ran through your hair, pulling you closer to her and to sleep.

Your chest aches as you remember, and seeing her with him again the next day makes you think:

That used to be me.