monday: I told you I couldn’t do this anymore and I thought you’d

understand this time. You didn’t.

tuesday: I watch you unfold and spill on to your desktop,

I can see my eyes looking down on all of it,

glaring at me from across the room. Nothing could be seen

if it weren’t through tears.

wednesday: I think you’re finally starting to catch on.

It’s not that I don’t love you, it’s just that I can live without you. I need you

to learn to live without me.

thursday: You called me crying and pleading after I specifically asked

you not to. It’s not my responsibility to take your broken

pieces and put you back together.

friday: was harder than I expected. I kept seeing you

in the cashier at the grocery store. I tasted you in

my mouth, and savored. I carried you with me

kicking and screaming in my pocket. In the doorman’s

forest hungry eyes. I’d always mistaken your eyes for the dull green

of a dirty pond.

saturday: I kissed you under a red light. The red

seeped into our skin and it never turned. I thought

this was a sign.

sunday: You finally kissed me first. I hope you kiss me

last, too.

Hannah McLendon