An Affair


I doubt I’ll ever come back to you
But that doesn’t mean I didn't want more

Your yellow-gold leaves
wet, dying November
grass welcomed me
just less than I needed
as we read a book together in the park.
You didn’t ask me what I was reading.

It was my birthday
You didn’t know
You wouldn’t have cared if you did
I didn't want you to
That’s why I left
She cared.
She kept trying to tell me it was ok, but I couldn’t believe her
You threw your coldness at me and feed me pancakes in the morning.

The old bookstore you took me to had a squeaky floor
And I liked that.
I spent a few minutes sitting on the rotting wood
reading book titles in the Romance section
appreciated how whimsical I get to be with you.
I waste time when I am home.

Time is becoming more indefinite in our lives.
Everything I do with you is temporary.

The unfamiliar maps of your body excited me
In a anticlimactic version of having no destination,
or at least trying not to,
distracting me from my own, and my familiar.
The amount of time I’ve spent with them reminding me today.
That I don’t know where I am going
And that’s ok, you said, with no attachment
I believed you.
And I left in the morning.