Monday, January 21, 2013
I am the bobby pins you find in corners of your room that seemed empty and clean yesterday.
I am the color of the walls in your bathroom with uneven strokes and gaps of white. I am the lavender.
I am the dent on the right hand side of your mattress whose dip cannot be undone after four years.
I am the rickety glass table we got from Ikea and put together and had dinners at when I would actually cook.
I am the the deleted pictures of us from the picture frame still likely displayed in the living room.
I am the faint stain on the underside of the middle cushion of your couch that came from a from the perfect first date story.
I am seltzer and ice cream and half eaten chocolates and gin and Keurig coffee and five different kinds of cereal and Awake Tazo tea.
I am the way I folded your shirts and paired up your socks.
I am the reason your Netflix still recommends psychological dramas and stupid romantic comedies.
I am the ice cream maker, the mixer, the glass fish bottle openers from Mexico that still sit in your cabinets.
I am all of the groceries and dates I paid for this time two years ago. And I am your monthly condo association fees your are now paying in full at the condo you still live in.
I am the puppy store by the Target.
I am Target and Ikea and Best Buy.
I am the drive into the suburbs.
I am the doctor's office on Broad Street right before City Hall.
I am the made up songs and dances to words about you.
I am the next apartment you'll live in that actually has windows in the bedroom.
I am the scent of vanilla and Hanae Mori.
I am Prohibition and Lagunitas.
I am the half uneaten french fries you didn't finish on your plate.
I am the chair beside your mom and the conversation she is having about her sadness and pain and misery.
I am the sheets on your bed and the bathmat and the towels you still use.
I am the mounain of snow for tubing at different resorts in NY and PA.
I am the hug from behind. The emptiness of your lap.
I am just someone your next girlfriend will be better than.
I am the bobby pins.
adapted from the thought catalog