The Math of You and Me

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Everyday I come home and I mentally recount the ways you were wrong for me. The ways we were wrong for each other. The way I was wrong for you. And I try to do the math. It doesn't add up. It never adds up. Where did we really drop the ball?

Was it because I did not know you enough? Was it because I had a hunch? Or was it repetition compulsion?

I am distracting myself the best way I can. I am all over the place. Restless. Literally restless.
I go back and forth. I want to write, but then I can't. I want to dance, but then I remember. I want to organize the mess, but then I am tired.

I float around. Maybe like a ghost. No heart. No flash. No pain.
I float around, scattered cloud. Massive cloud without direction.
Trying to regroup. Trying to organize the house. Trying to be the house. The house of drying roses that still have a scent.

You
The cool guy
Me
The awkward girl


Such disparage
The dates are going to start repeating themselves. Our first anniversary. The first kiss.
The first dinner. The first questions. The first dreams. 

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