1. January, 2011.
The sky froze in January.
I said
I needed to move on,
I wasn’t going to wait,
I was going,
we were gone.

2. January, 2011.
No passive-aggressive poems, you said.
I don’t know if you were talking to yourself
or to me.

3. February - June, July, 2010.
February 14 was warm,
and though we mocked
crass consumerism
we set a study date,
I gave you a lily,
I found some words
and you agreed to being
together; we finally thought
we’d give it a shot.

I can’t even remember
if it was June or July.
I’m fine giving both up.
We calmly talked about
why it wouldn’t work,
about what you needed,
what I didn’t and don’t have
and in my anger, I agreed
to being apart; we thought
we’d give that a shot.

4. January, 2011.
"We’re not having sex
before I leave," you said.
"Just so you know."

I tried anyway,
ultimately deciding
you were right.

At least I think
it was a decision.

"I don’t remember
our last time together,"
I thought.

"I want to remember," I said.
"I don’t want to regret," you said.
"Me neither."

Men aren’t much more than hip thrusts,
occasionally well-timed.

5. August, September, 2010.
August or September,
we broke the silence
simultaneously, came to
a conclusion that was better
than everything.

6. October, 2010.
After we slept together at your house,
you told me I’m not the one,
we bought a pregnancy test
at the store slightly further away,
then I left.

7. December, 2010.
December was more of the same
invisible man routine.

I was getting used to being
an imaginary friend with benefits.

8. January, 2010.
My face is freezing. I’m blushing.
I step out of my car, onto the road,
one hand tracing the surface of the hood
as I round the front to the sidewalk,
turn for the door, and ring the bell.
In ten seconds, I run crisis aversion,
how to minimize the damage when I
ruin what might not even be a date.
At zero, your brother opens the door,
I shake his hand, he compliments my tie,
you smile, we hug, and we’re back to the car.

It’s warm for January.

You tell me you need time to decide.
I say I need to move. I’m not going
to wait. I’m not going. We’re here.

Deep breath.

01/09/2011

Author's Note: This is probably better off staying in my journal.

Posted on 01/09/2011
Copyright © 2024 Jason Wardell