The Idea of You

Do you remember that night?

When you and I lay on that couch,

That couch with stains from different nights,

And you said you’d never live my side,

Come rain come shine?

 

Do you remember that morning when your mother called?

She wanted you to meet her at that restaurant,

The one where you guys had breakfast every morning of your birthday.

And on your twenty first, she called,

But you weren’t available.

You were with me.

And I told you to go.

 

Do you remember your tears?

The pain condensed into sorrowful twin streams,

Coursing their way down your cheeks?

 

Such was the pain of the idea of spending a morning with your mother,

Without me by your side.

So without your asking,

I joined you guys for breakfast.

Do you remember the memories we made?

 

I miss the idea of being your everything.

Of being all that matters to you.

I miss the idea of us,

Holed up in our tiny apartment together,

Watching movies,

Drinking cheap wine that should be drunk chilled,

But for lack of a refrigerator we drink it warm.

 

When did that stop?

When did I start coming second to your phone?

To your job?

To the girls with whom you drink every weekend?

 

I look back and I don’t miss you.

I miss the idea of you.

 

I miss the idea of spending the weekend just the two of us.

No phones,

No internet,

And most definitely,

No clothes.

 

I miss the jokes,

As opposed to the sullen stares.

I miss the laughter and the light it brought,

As opposed to the silence that has befallen us.

 

I miss you,

I miss me,

I miss us.

Not the us we have become,

But the us we used to be,

When it was just you and me.

 

Do you remember when, ‘I love you’ came more naturally?

At the end of a lengthy laughter,

Or in the middle of dinner?

 

Do you remember when simple things mattered?

Like doing the dishes together,

And laundry,

And sitting on each other’s laps?

Now I just find myself alone on the bed at midnight with my laptop on my lap.

These laps belong to you not to a goddamn machine!

I find myself clanking these keys with my fingers,

Fingers that should be exploring your curves,

Not black keys with tiny boring letters.

 

Then the door opens and the ‘honey I’m home’ doesn’t feel so real any more.

This large apartment feels so cold even with you in it.

Home is where the heart is,

And my heart is with you,

But you have grown colder than this apartment.

The kisses feel so pretentious.

My heart is in a cold place and I just want it back.

I miss the idea of warmth.

 

I look at you,

The icebox you’ve become,

I touch you and I don’t feel your presence any more.

I see you looking at me,

But it is like you are looking right through me.

I don’t recognize you anymore.

I don’t think there is a way to get us back.

 

They say people change,

But they don’t say how to handle such.

So all I am left with are memories

Sweet and warm memories of what you and I used to be,

Before we became this empty shell,

Holding the dying embers of a fire long gone.

This poem is about: 
Me
Our world

Comments

MVP-Most Valuable Poet

This is very personal and courageous of you to express your reflection
I can sense emotions full of hurt
This is a great way to release it through poetry
Well done brother

Need to talk?

If you ever need help or support, we trust CrisisTextline.org for people dealing with depression. Text HOME to 741741