three years ago,
i went to your house
and left a piece of myself in your living room.

we used to like the same sort of music. you danced
and i sang the words to pop songs that didn't last.
the top forty charts are constantly changing
and i think my old favorite radio station has turned to static.

maybe i was naive to believe we would stay.

you forced your parents out of the room
and we giggled about boys.
you showed me old photographs
and i hung streamers like nooses around the ceiling beams.

this was your first birthday without me, and
i wonder if the cake tasted bittersweet.

i wonder if pop music sounds emptier when i'm far away.