bandages and maps

Your birthday is still my bank pin.

I know I should change it, I know.

But it’s not like it’s my main card,

just the one for family groceries and things.

Still, every time I’m at the checkout with my jug of milk or shampoo,

I get to celebrate the simple fact that you

are alive.

You see, I told myself I was going to stop writing poetry about you.

And I lied.

Because writing poems about you is as easy as putting too much sugar in my tea.

I know I should be weaning back on my dependency

but the sweetness is irresistibly

pulling and I’m tired of resisting.

I’m tired of telling myself to stop thinking about you.

It’s exhausting. Like falling asleep when you’re so tired you don’t remember how.

Logically, I know there was a time when your voice meant less to me and your name, said aloud, didn’t bring tension to my body like the cold days I’ve gotten all too used to.

But logic doesn’t sink through my skin as the feel of your sharp hips once did.

Sometimes, I sit on my floor like a philosopher, tracing the lines on my palm to see if I can figure out where it all went wrong. I think we spent so much energy trying to let each other go while clinging tighter, creating our own world in which we could be together. Lying through quick messages, spelled out through fingers didn’t believe us. But I wanted to.

I wanted to believe we could be friends, people who didn’t hurt each other by being themselves.

But If I wanted to take back all the pain I would have to unravel every second we spent together because like that knitted sweater I never made you, the imperfections are a part of the design,

helplessly intertwined with the wool and the warmth.

I cannot forget you.

So I have to believe that one day, we will be friends. One day we will be people who sit on lawn furniture and drink wine together and I know you probably don’t like wine and maybe you never will so I’ll let you drink Mountain Dew and I’ll even pretend I’m not judging you.

The bandages we wrapped around ourselves to hide the marks of each other will fall away to reveal maps that tell us who we are.

They’ll say that you

will always be a part of me.

But for now, I’ll change my bank pin.