Chris

dumb angsty poem about an ex

I know it’s been three years,

But I never would have thought

Of you and I as strangers.

A stranger doesn’t know the way

Your eyes change color in the sun.

 

How could we be strangers

When I can still breathe in

The phantom of your

smoke and old spice scent.

 

How could we be strangers

When I can feel the soft indents

Of your arms wrapped around me

When I wake up on Sundays.

 

How could we be strangers

When I close my eyes and

Your sea glass ones wait for me

In the darkness behind them.

 

But it seems you barely recognize me.

 

Your small talk rushes through my fingers like smoke.

 

It’s disturbing, the cycle of things:

 

Stranger, friend, lover, friend, stranger.