last night

you, I, and a third friend all skyped

and even across the hundreds of miles,

through a sometimes-blurred laptop screen,

between the lapses of internet connection,

I saw you.

I saw the white flash of your straight teeth

and the dark sheen of your effortless hair

the way your nose wrinkles when you’re pleased

how your shoulders schlump when you’re embarrassed

and you try to make yourself small,

as if to hide the red stain across the bridge of your nose

(you had no need to be embarrassed at all).

everytime that I declare

once again,

that I’m so over you

and quite fine, thank you for not asking,

I am struck

in

the

face

that,

no,

I’m not really quite over this thing that

we called in elementary school

“like-like.”

And I’ll admit it,

I am the pining-type:

faithful to a fault

hopeful for reasons even I don’t know

staunch in my belief that things will turn out right.

But I’m trying to not be,

in your case.

And when time passes without you

(it’d been two weeks since we talked),

I think that I’ve got this “under control”

and that I can just enjoy your friendship

and stop wishing for you to breathe sweet nothings in my ear

or kiss the top of my head.

and, why would I even want that?

But, I swear,

when I watch you run your fingers through your hair,

I definitely lose some resolve.

It makes me wonder why I would call

at all. I just feel sad

and old.

Because after the giddy warmth fades,

and the skype date is done,

I’m just here alone.