if it ain’t broke

i miss you and i wish i didn’t. seeing
you after so many months was akin to
being plunged into the january atlantic.
my entire body reacts to you still, even
from a distance where you are trying
your damndest Not to look at me. (me
fucking too.)

you read things i’d heard before, in
another life in your bed. and
hearing your voice brought electric
twinges of sadness. i long for
a future where you’ll be around, where
things will be different between us,
better. fun. drunk. happy. no cold
words where once there was

but instead, you’re somehow more dis-
connected than i; broke but with no
fix. all i know is fixing, my whole
life. “approach everything like a problem,
you’ll be a hammer where every
fucking thing looks a nail. don’t be
so cynical, it’s unbecoming”, my
mother always told me when i was young
and dumb. i thought that it would save
me from being burned like that again,
but it only makes me distant. and right
now, i am cooked. of course, she was
right. wrapping yourself in cynicism
is a good way to drown. no more
stones in my pockets.

i wish you the best of
every damn thing. i hope you’ll
have me around someday

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