I’m supposed to be studying…
Normally I’d call you and explain why I’m weary,
but that’s just not an option.
I went from crying to you to crying over you.
I want to tell you that I miss you,
but that’d be a waste of words.
Today I have a final for that really hard class I told you about…
But I’m on the couch typing this poem.
You always do that to me:
Overtake my thoughts.
You invade my emotional space and diminish other things of importance.
I’ve got to get these problems right,
but I wish that I could make things right with you.
And I hope that as I type this,
you’re in your bed looking at the spot I used to lay.
I hope that your arms and legs don’t feel the same
since mine aren’t tangled in between them.
And maybe you feel just as dazed and out of place as I do.
I sure hope so.
And maybe, for the first time, you know what it feels like
to have “the one who got away.”
Poet: Stefanie Parrott