Missing You

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While I dreamt of you, they had sex three and a half times. I woke to tell them about my dream while he rubbed her rib cage, naked limbs knotted. They listened and giggled, smoking dirty cigs in bed.

He left colored shoes in front of our big wood door or on the second landing of our stairs. How odd, I thought, and wondered where he’d leave them next. And in the mornings, no one left our house until he did.

At one of our parties, a girl peed in a cup and I told her to get the fuck out. I explained to him I hated the smell of piss for the same reason I hated the smell of popcorn.

She told me about how they held hands and talked about when he used to be fat and when she used to run for miles on end.

He bought her a new dress, the pretty kind; and they swapped sweatshirts and kisses and hearts and silly stuff like that.

She liked to read his poems and he liked to read hers. For once, I saw that she could be herself, and it made me wish you were here so I could do the same.