Someone keeps parking in my spot. I've drafted the complaint four times and always close the app instead of posting it.
He's taken the long way home for years, past the house we don't live in anymore. Tonight I finally notice he always slows down in front of it.
I reorder groceries at 3am and the app still stocks his oat milk first, ahead of anything I've bought myself in four years.
Every Sunday I fill my mother's pill organizer. Tonight it was already done, and someone else's name came up instead of mine.
Six weeks after surgery I go back to choir to return a folder and find the room running fine without me, right down to my old spot on the risers.
At a friend's wedding after-party, I go looking for myself in the photographer's preview and find the same navy dress in every one this year.
I've started arriving at the gym five minutes early to stretch, or that's what I tell myself about the timing.
my mother tells the same story about me at every family dinner. tonight i counted how many times.
the car clock's been an hour fast since march. i do the subtraction at every red light instead of fixing it. tonight i figured out why i won't.
a receipt fell out of the cookbook with her handwriting on it, and i counted the calls i haven't returned.
I took the long way home, which is to say I drove past your old building and sat outside a window that isn't ours.
everyone wrote stay in touch. i waited until last and wrote two words. true enough.