If I fill my calendar
Then I won’t think about you
If I scan through apps like it’s my job
If I search for something, anything, that’s like you but not you
Then will I finally forget you?
Will the memory of your touch flee from my mind?
Will I stop looking up when I see someone who looks like you, not want to flinch away from them, because I see you in their eyes, their nose, their movement?
And if I keep my brain occupied enough, paint my nails to stop myself from biting them, focus on everything that is not you, then each day should be easier. If I let the days become a blur, will it take a month, two, three, before I can go back to the places you took me and the drinks we had together and not care?
And with each day I don’t hear from you, will it be easier to forget why I wanted to hear from you in the first place? Remember that you are replaceable, that you were the placeholder on the road to something better?
Or, is that how you think of me? As a temporary solution to a problem you wanted to ignore, to be cast aside when it was convenient?
I will never know.
Maybe with time
And my anger
And my hurt
And I can think of you the way I want to
With a fondness and dull ache
Instead of the bubbling of something I don’t know how to process when your song comes on
Or when I see your book on my shelf
The bottle on my counter
So I’ll preoccupy myself.
And forgive myself that I need time, and probably will for a while.
And I will hope you don’t show up
Making me start all over again
Unless you’re there to stay.