Rhythmical

on the night you called, i stayed up until 10 am.
i never questioned our sanity or my drooping eyelids.
"do you have feelings for her?" you asked.
"no, that's gross."
we all knew you had feelings of a different kind,
feelings that could break glass,
the kind of shards
you step on
at 4 am
(or maybe 10)
when you're too tired to notice their glossy tint.

i spent so much on you -
money, call minutes, and
the energy that goes into
my hugs.
i never stopped to think
maybe i'm lonely
while you were making friends,
making pizzas,
going to class,
dressing classy,
earning a new freckle every day,
i was on my gray painted floor,
cutting rhythmical questions:
will you be my internet girlfriend?


"i know," she said,
after that 8 hour phone call.
my phone's on fire,
and it's all in vain.
for all the times i tried to please you
yet you walked out the door
to the other side of the country
embracing the palm trees
like your relatives
that's when the fault lines formed.

no matter how many times i say it,
i feel greedy.
guilty.
too honest.
too loud.
but i know pittsburgh is telling me to
just do it.
just say it.
get it over with, ya whippersnapper.

it's my job.
my job to put you on the spot,
to tell you how you tore
my willingness to make friends,
my anticipation to hear the birds sing,
my drive to get behind the steering wheel.

and there's something sick about it.
i can't help wanting to go back,
but it's a cheap memory.
one that cost too much.
friends that were never going to last.
flowers that were never going to bloom.
i overestimated you.