A sucker punch to the gut—
It hurt like hell.
And yet, I ache for your hands, still.

Your message, loud in all caps:
“GOOD LUCK.”
You meant goodbye.
And yet, I scan for your sweet texts, still.

That final kiss—soft, wet—
Caught in the crack of a closing door,
You walked away.
But I feel it on my lips, still.

I lie in bed beneath the pale yellow glow
Of headlights sweeping down the street.
They’re never yours.
But I watch for them, still.

You drove to me,
Then drove away—
Into the cold, dark night.
Again.

Hot breath, hands tangled,
Our bodies writhing
In the silence of my bed.

It was moments ago—
And yet, it feels like years.

You ask if I miss you.
And I do.
Still.