if he hadn’t I wouldn’t know how to love you like this 

OR

the trumpet solo at the beginning of pictures at an exhibition as a guide for turning you into something I can stomach

 

I thought I was getting better but I still miss you

   like you’re gone;

 

so a few weeks ago I was talking to march 

about you and they told me to dm you

   about how I really feel and what I really want.

so I did and the answer you gave me 

was no. you told me

   you’re not good with one-on-one and

you’ve been really mentally wiped lately. 

I said that’s ok! with a little heart next to it and

   I said you can always tell me if you need space

and I said I understand :)

 

I’d been sitting on the porch when 

I sent you the text, asking 

   for some of your time. for something in return.

anything 

would have sufficed - or so I used to say. I 

   must have thought much higher of myself

than I should have. I used to write that

I could leave you alone forever if I had to.

   you told me no

and I went back inside. I drank until I shook.

and I would have cried the kind of cry

   that makes you beg out loud 

if I were still able to do that kind of thing in

front of anyone but God.

 

well anyway the next morning I thought

things were fixed, 

   and for a little while they were, 

for a while I stopped looking for you in rooms

where you were not. for a while my life 

   revolved around where I was going, not

where I thought you might end up.

I apologized to october like he would 

   suddenly be able to save me. spoilers,

he didn’t, he can’t, and because of that all of us

are alone again. nights like these I wonder

   if maybe my mother is right

and I was never meant to be anybody at all.

 

back a few months ago, fuck, 

last semester at least, 

   you’d had one vodka-redbull and took a hit

by the time you pulled your ponytail out and 

let your hair down. that was the night we 

   said goodbye to july up until six in the morning

right before I had a final. I didn’t 

fucking care. your nails were painted black

   because I had done them,

walked in the cold to my dorm to get the polish

and back to your apartment. 

  it was the only time I’ve ever held your hands

because you wanted me to.

you were high and drunk and so that

   is the only reason you let me, probably,

and definitely the only reason that, 

when I tried to leave, you argued and snapped

   let me care about you!

 

new year’s day I texted you after one

sip of my parents’ diluted alcohol 

   and told you I was sorry but I love you.

I watched the jazz band play every day 

that week like you could somehow 

   tell and love me more for it. the past year 

was hanging heavy around my neck while

the future crept up behind me with a comically

   large hammer but you texted me back

I’m glad I met you <3 and I was so sure

I would never feel the blow.

 

I don’t know what it means when I say this either

but you’re pretty with your hair down.

   october says you’re ugly and 

that your hair is greasy but I just have to smile

because I know.

   I’d still like to touch it anyway. I’d still like

to kiss you, if you would let me,

I’d like for you to touch me back, 

   I’d like to know that my hands won’t break you

if I put them in the wrong place by accident.

you’ve been wearing a new white sweater

   and you’re beautiful. I could look at your body

until your chest rotted away and I’m sure 

I’d still find something in there to want to hold.

 

in 1973 Don Ellis released an album with

the jazz chart Whiplash on it and because of that

   49 years later you told me things about your life 

you probably never wanted me to know.

I hope that when you hear that piece you

   think about my shoebox of a room and

I hope you see me sitting next to you

listening to your voice break while

   you try to cry and talk at the same time.

I know you meant it that night when you told me 

I love you too. I know 

   because I haven’t heard you say it since.

 

a few weeks ago I was talking to march 

about you and they told me to dm you

   about how I really feel and what I really want

so I did and the answer you gave me 

was no and

   I thought I was getting better.

tonight though I’d give anything to know

that you want me, 

   I would give anything to be selfish for once 

in my stupid, short life. 

I want to know what your boyfriend thinks

   of me. I want to know what you meant 

freshman year when you said you wouldn’t

mind loving two people if the other one 

   just happened to fall into your lap. I want

you to love me loudly. 

I want you to love me in a way I comprehend,

   because 

I DON’T UNDERSTAND is all 

the sky ever tells me anymore and I am 

   getting old and I am getting tired

and I’m worried that this is what it felt like 

for you, too.

 

last winter just before the end of the world

we played for the christmas show together,

   you were on trumpet and flugelhorn

and I said I didn’t think that was a real 

instrument in front of your professor. that 

   saturday with the back to back shows we 

spent all day together, just us. 

mostly in silence, 

   but happy. and I think I mean this when I say it;

 

I can leave you alone forever if and only if

   I can still see you standing next to me.