And I threw myself into trying to organize my closet and compartmentalize my thoughts and remember to brush my teeth, but I couldn’t keep my room clean past a week and seeing you with a new woman made me painfully grit my teeth,
And I tried to lose you in a desperately long list of men who tore my conscience apart looking for their fathers between my legs, and I guess it had something to do with trying to heal old wounds with new stitches, but every Monday your name was the memo on an “I quit” email to a boss I could only ever hate for having someone to go home to and a corner office with a view that wasn’t a cubicle wall,
And I began to feel breathless without ever actually moving and I think it had something to do with how fast my mind raced back to you when I was focused on not showing up at your door because I couldn’t admit I was incapable of letting you go,
My favorite word became “fuck” but only because it was so closely followed by “you”
And I stopped calling my mom every Sunday because she always wanted to know how I was holding up and I couldn’t bring myself to tell her that I had forgotten how to fold a bed sheet, wash my delicates or speak in something other than a giant run-on sentence
All because someone had stopped wanting me.