Sierra DeMulder- “The Unrequited Love Poem”
On watching someone you love, love somebody else.
You’ll be out with friends, when the news of her existence is accidentally spilled all over your bar stool.
Respond calmly, as if there’s only a change in weather, a punch line you saw coming.
After your fourth shot of cheap liquor, leave the image of him kissing another woman, in the toilet.
In the morning, her name will be in every headline- carcrash, robbery, flood.
When he calls you, ignore the hundreds of ropes untangling themselves in your stomach.
You are the bestfriend again.
When he invites you over for dinner, say “yes” too easily.
Remind yourself, “This isn’t special, it’s only dinner, everyone has to eat.”
When he greets you at the door, do not think for one second, you are the reason why he worked alone tonight.
In his kitchen, he will hand feed you a piece of red bell pepper.
His laugh will be low, warm, and it will make you feel like candlelight— do not think this is special.
Do not count on your fingers the numbers of freckles you could kiss too easily, try to think of pilot lights or olive oil, not everything you have ever loved about him, or you’ll suddenly feel boiling, and possible, and so close.
You will find her bobby pins, lying innocently in his bathroom sink- her bobby pins. They look like the wiry legs of spiders, splinters of her undressing in his bed.
Do not say anything.
Think of stealing them, wearing them home in your hair.
When he hugs you goodbye, let him kiss you on the forehead, settle for target practice.
At home, you will picture her across town, pressing her fingers into his back like wet cement.
You will wonder if she looks like you, if you are two bedrooms in the same house, did he fall for her features like re-arranged furniture. When he kisses her, does she taste like new paint.
You will want to call him, you will go as far as holding the phone in your hand, imagine telling him unimaginable things like, “You are always ticking inside of me, and I dream of you more often than I don’t. My body is a dead language and you pronounce each word perfectly.”
Do not call him.
Fall asleep to the hum of the VCR.
She must make him happy. She must be his favorite place in Minneapolis.
You, are a souvenir shop, where he goes to remember how much people miss him when he’s gone.
life would be so much simpler if my brain had an on/off switch
(Source: paper-trees, via deleteandrewrite)
