you've never come to see me

so apparently everyone, as well as no one, knows that i left you
and even less know that you left me before i even had a chance to feel properly abandoned
but that's okay, i held on long enough and longer than i had to, as not to deprive myself of that particular agony, since you know i'm all about that experiential shit, you know, like feelings and words and stuff.

but since i've finally spoken the words aloud, about
how angry and frustrated i was and how much i wished you would get out of my life
i realized how true it was, then
upon meeting the air, and having it vibrate all around
i wasn't upset anymore
and was ready to love you again.

but i'm not going to lie, i still lose track of where i am when i drive
and think about that time, when i was washing dishes in your kitchen,
a day or so after we sort of got back together, and you put your arms around me
and provided some weighty pause;
during which i felt your warmth and your breath resting in the crook of my neck
there was a dull grey light diffusing though the window, a view upon which
would reveal your hiking shoes and sneakers
the ones with insoles glued in with the adhesive i brought you.

with the time seeming to stop altogether,
your stubby fingers attempted to be sweet and childish
with that same—
like all those other days—
when you were behind me

suddenly i'm back again, to that road, coming home from work
to a home where you are not
pinned in glass and wondering where did my last 30 minutes go,
i thought i was going to unwind, instead i've spent all this time forgetting the taste of your lips and wishing you'd never said anything remotely sincere
so that i didn't have to keep wasting my affection on your vacancy
on a road which you will never pass or drive by
because you'll never come
you'll never come
you've never come to see me.