on one evening, i felt an urge to go to your house. you usually discouraged this,
because it was a constant “state”, whatever that meant.
the one time i went, it was quite clean, but stank of gone-off stella artois.
the atmosphere clung to every facet of my clothing. i had fun when i was there,
but it was blindingly obvious that you weren’t. you kept looking at your watch.
i hadn’t seen you wear a watch before. i asked you where you got it, and you said
“i just had it lying around, and finally got it repaired. why are you asking me now?”
i missed the bus home. i didn’t know the way to the bus stop, and you said
“i can’t walk you there cause i’ve got an amazon delivery coming in a few minutes and i can’t miss it because otherwise it’ll get wet and i fucking hate it when that happens.”
i stepped in a puddle on the way, and audibly swore. a woman wielding a large pram glared at me.
i thought of you, and how you always chastised me for “swearing like a sailor”.
i said “i know it’s over, still i cling” when i called you to be facetious. you didn’t really get it.