I am not your ex-girlfriend.
I am the tile in your bathroom.
I am the peeling wallpaper in your grandmother’s home.
I am the the curtains in your bedroom.
I am not your friend.
I am the lights in your kitchen.
I am the cough when you’ve had bronchitis for two whole weeks.
I am the creak in your door hinge every time you leave.
I am not a stranger you pass on the street.
I am the rotting tree in your mother’s back yard.
I am the letters in the trashcan that you didn’t even bother to read.
I am the smell you cannot get rid of in your fireplace,
the hole in your wall, the days you forgot to come to the door.
I don’t know what I am saying anymore..
How are we not still in love?