(escapril, day 7: start with a time of day)

Eleven o’clock on a Saturday night and I am definitely, certainly, absolutely not thinking about you. Well, at least I’m trying.

It’s a bit difficult to get the blood out of my veins, to wash the smell out of my hair, to push aside five years of futile fondness.

I know it’s silly. But you’re irresistible. My mind wanders back to you like a lost dog.

I create a space for you to occupy in a room really only built for one, and I make myself feel the loss.

I know it probably won’t ever happen. But still.

I curl up in bed alone, pillows a little too soft under my head, and wonder.

Am I keeping you up?

Do you kick your sheets off in the middle of the night, hot and untethered?

Have you missed me?

I hope so.