My favorite memory of you
is the night we sat on the back porch
swilling amber ale
lashing tongues like knives and words like bullets
and pretending we didn't love the hell out of each other.
I was collecting firefly jewelry
and you were contributing to a classic rock song
[your charm overshadows your voice]
and as you grinned
the possibility of you
giving just a passing fuck about me
flashed through my thoughts.
And so, here I am
relinquishing my soul more and more each day
to some divine entity
in which neither of us believe
that, for one second
you'll give me the reassurance that I am where I am supposed to be.
I sold out for you at the beginning of time
and I'm scared to admit I regret it.