You won’t find anyone who will listen to your stories like I did,
even if sometimes it seemed like I wasn’t listening at all,
and playing with your hair and poking at your cheeks instead,
I was listening, I swear I was.
I can remember what you said to me before we fell asleep
the last night we spent together,
I can remember the words you traced on my back
(“I love you,” 5 months before you ever said it out loud),
I remember the conversation we had at 3 a.m. after we fucked
and then couldn’t fall asleep, so we fucked again and said,
“thank you” to each other and finally closed our eyes.
I remember how your older brother makes you feel,
how you feel about your drug addict cousin
and how you drove to my house at midnight
when I thought my cat ran away and you told me
“everything’s going to be okay, really.”
I remember all of those times and the words you spoke,
I remember your mouth and the gap between your teeth,
the way your lips formed words and I listened every time, I swear.