A million times

extended conversations

one more drink and then none

it was always endless, and I never knew how to draw the line

between then and now.

I’m stuck, quite hopeslessly.

I’ve mapped out my routes and planned my escapes

you are in every line.

I used to tell myself that time could never kill the true heart;

mine aches endlessly when I allow it to (which is not so often, if that’s any consolation)

Is it funny that what I miss

is really just saying your name—