It’s me again.
You’re probably still at work.
This is the last time, I promise.
I apologize for all of it, for the cold sheets I left you in,
for the lazy liquor Sundays and their two-faced church pew
I know now that I fucked up everything, starting with the syllables of your last name and ending with your opinion on love.
And maybe the stars do sometimes align when you least expect it— in the right place, at the right time,
but not for us.
I apologize if it sounds like I’m choking, it’s from punching my own stomach in attempted relief for the knot formed by your voice over the machine.
I should never have gone, but now I should go, I never thought you would leave but now I’ll leave you alone.
Lately I hate my own bed but you probably do too, been feeling homeless in my head because my home was with you."
▼ please leave a message after she’s gone | Derek Deyling