On a Sweltering Tuesday in July

This is not like I imagined
it would be. You told me that
you missed me. Over the phone.
On a sweltering Tuesday in
July.

You had an ugly raspiness to
your voice that lets me know
you still smoke. I wish I
could have seen your eyes. I
know that they would've
been dull, without meaning,
but I'm familiar with his
uncaring eyes, and beautiful
words.

His voice convince me to lose
any hope of progress, of
moving on, of moving anywhere
at all. I knew I was stuck
but it's where I belonged.

I'd rather swallow down lies
and play the part in yet
another game of pretend, then
come to the reality that he
doesn't miss me.

He doesn't need me for any
reason.

There are a hundred girls
pleading at his feet and I am
one of them, just as pathetic
as the rest. I know I've been
here for the longest. I knew
him before he was cold. I was
14 when I met him and loved
him.

I turn 18 soon. Late August.
I'll be exactly where I was back
in those days; just with more
makeup and less smiles.

The worst thing is, I loved him
back when he was a nobody. Now
that he's a somebody, someone
every girl can see, there's no
way he needs me. He probably doesn't
even want me. I'm so replaceable.

I bet that he told me he misses
me because another woman in his life
realized who he was, and was gone.

I wish I was her.

I wish that him saying that he missed
me, didn't cause me to not sleep for
two days. I wish that I could say I
haven't cried eight times since that
sweltering Tuesday in July.

I wish that he didn't say that he
missed me; instead, I wish he
missed me.






You know, at fourteen, he said he
loved me the way some people say
prayers. He would say he loved me
like some people sing. He would say
it the way birds fly and stars shine
and how a pathetic poet rhymes.

Though, on a sweltering Tuesday in
July, he only said he missed me.
There was no love. Thank god. If he
even once said he loved me I would
never recover.

I already doubt I ever will.