It Shouldn't Be So Hard


After six months
Two or three,
A day or a week,
Or even a year)
I wake up and
I don’t think about you.
(Proving to myself
We could someday live
As we did before.)
Nothing has changed:
The sky is still blue,
I still have acne scars,
And my mother pinches my belly fat.
But when I do I’m in bed
(for hours, for days)
Trying to figure out why you
Continue to haunt me.
Once more the world drifts away
As I scavenge for memories
In the dense fog.
But I should know better than that.
All I can do is minimize the pain. Again.


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