Those times when you’d call me
or leave me messages
or write me letters
telling me you missed me
and that you had always loved me
and always would

just barely short of declaring
it was me you should have married
and not her

were they the days
when you two had problems
and you came running back
to the sacred memory
of a pure and strong love
that went wrong only once?

I don’t think so.
If you and I
are as alike
as I know we are
I don’t think that you’d remember me
during the worst times
but during the best times,
when everything is smooth-sailing
and perfect
and golden
and you still can’t help but ask,
Is this all there is?
Isn’t there supposed to be more?

You know you should feel complete
but you suddenly realize
that you don’t
because something is missing.