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Two years in a row you said happy birthday
and this year I wasn’t significant enough to warrant
a simple message on my Facebook wall
or even a quick spoken word in the hallway.
I hope you’re happy.
Maybe I don’t.
I don’t know how to think anymore,
what you did
who you are to me.
Maybe I just miss you.
I feel sick when I look at pictures of us,
especially me in that blue dress
and you in that green tie
and my hair curled
and you wrapped in the stranglehold of my arms.
My God, I was in love.
You can see it on my face.
I wonder if you knew.
Everyone else could tell.
I was so happy.
I didn’t want to be anywhere
if I couldn’t be in your arms.
And looking back now, I realize –
stupid stupid stupid
how could I fall for your tricks.
Your hugs, your kisses, the way you said my name,
that sleep-lazy voice that crawled under my skin
down my throat, to my stomach, back up
attaching itself to my brain, short-circuiting
all logical parts of my head. I was lost.
I miss that. Maybe I miss you.
Or maybe I just hate who you’ve become.
When I see you now, I don’t see you.
You aren’t Him anymore, this Boy
I’ve been in love with
for as long as I can possibly recall.
You are now just him, that kid,
no longer worthy of a name
because if you can’t remember mine
I sure as all heck won’t let you know
that to this day
I still worship yours. *