You spelled my name right when you said goodbye. I sent it to my sister. She read it standing up. Made you sound impatient, then asked if I'd had lunch. My friend tried on your accent. We laughed until we stopped. When she asked me, "Milk or sugar?" she still had your voice on. One says you're being gentle. One says you've moved on. I keep the one who takes a breath like you might carry on. I let you out of my mouth. You got into theirs. Now everybody I love can leave me like you did. They say, "You must be hungry." They say, "I'll walk you home." I wait for the part where they tell me I'm better off alone. A girl I barely know reads it softly on the train. She makes you sound so lovely I forget what happens next. The doors slide shut behind her. She waves through dirty glass. For half a second, there you are, with somewhere else to be. One says you'll regret it. One says you won't call. I keep the one who takes a breath and doesn't read it all. I let you out of my mouth. You got into theirs. Now everybody I love can leave me like you did. They say, "Stay for another." They say, "Text when you're home." I wish you'd been this easy to find when we were close. I try to write an answer. Three lines. A little space. I get as far as "kind regards." I leave room for my name. I read it in the kitchen. It comes out in my voice. I let you out of my mouth. You got into theirs. Now everybody I love can leave me like you did. Someone says, "You must be hungry." Someone offers me a ride. I almost hear them clearly. I almost say, "I'm fine." Kind regards. I leave the cursor there.
