i see him
with that same
slow-paced walk
that same
listless stare
as he is watching me
walk by

and i think:
i don't miss
the dissatisfaction
the look of disgust
that deliberate way he'd
pick me apart

his voice is sharp
as always
but his eyes are suggesting
that he misses my company

when he steps close,
i can smell
his dirty hair
and suddenly

[the memories are triggered]

i remember what it's like
to be in the passenger seat of his car,
the rain on the windsheild, the heat turned up,
saying nothing, understanding everything

i remember what it's like
to lay in his bed;
the december breeze sneaking through the window
as we're under the sheets
half asleep

i remember what it's like
when both of his hands are on my back
and he is looking at me
with eyes that say more than
his mouth ever could
and i am smelling
that dirty, dirty hair

he was never right for me
he was never perfect
but in spite of everything
i miss him

04/09/2007

Posted on 04/10/2007
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