I realized this,
Flying over Philadelphia:
You are not the only one.
Do you understand?
You are not the only one.
I will cry for one week straight.
For a month, I will see you everywhere.
For two months more,
Little things will speak your name and form.
But at six months?
I will be able to laugh.
I will mock your mannerisms to my friends.
I will call you
A bastard
A jackass
A son of a bitch.
And they will all agree.
I will gain weight and lose it.
I will pick up a hobby.
I will have a one-night stand,
With someone ten times as attractive as you are.
The next morning,
I will tell myself it was worth it.
One day, I will see you.
I will smile without bitterness, and say,
“Hello.”
You will respond in kind.
You will ask me to get a drink:
Coffee, beer,
No matter.
I will decline.
But, as you walk away,
I will call you back.
We will laugh again together;
We will say our good-byes.
I will go home and cry,
One last time.
I will dry my eyes
And go for a walk in the sun.
The sum of all the parts is this:
I will get over you.
