And the light from the sun hits your face a certain blinding way and you’re suddenly three months prior
to when you bleached your hair and changed your phone number.
You’re remembering the way his voice sounded when he said
The ways he resisted you
and how you resist the urge to call him every Friday night when you’re two drinks deep into beers with different boys
because none of them remind you of rejection
and it scares you to think that’s what’s keeping you grounded.
You’re sweating under summer sheets making love to boys who treat you like a jigsaw puzzle; everyone tries to put it back together but someone’s always fucking it up and walking away without giving it a second try.
You’re remembering all the ways you asked
Can I get close to you?
and how today they sound like
Can I get over you?
By the time your sight returns, the sun is setting on another day where you had to remind yourself that you’re not alone despite feeling lonely,
and you’re in a better place,
one where you’re promising you won’t wear his sweatshirt for the entire month of October, maybe you’ll burn it by December and stop lying to your friends about dating new people,
or maybe you’re still in the same place trying to forget the way regret tastes bitter in your mouth.
The sun is setting on this day, this heartache, that boy, the ways you stitched up old wounds with new thread
and it’s time you rediscovered the urge to go back inside and stop beating yourself up over how you can’t control the way the wind will blow or if he will choose to follow, leaving you behind to pick up the pieces once the dust has settled.