this is.
you are.
i cannot believe.


voicemails from private numbers render me incapable of finishing sentences.




from drunkards.

drunkards who speak about love like they know what it is.
or
they know how it feels.
or
they
might
remember that time
when
it
was
almost
real.

before the lies.


but i was on a bench with someone else.
and
my phone was still on silent from the movie.
and
i didn't notice the missed calls until 2am.
when
i just knew that they were from you.
and
my heart raced.
and
i began to shake.
and
i blamed it on the cigarettes and the coffee and my nerves.
even though

i'm not as good of a liar as you.



it's funny how the universe works.
with its benches.
and
its way of making you always yearn to be


someplace else.