A short poem

a non-existent memory

You stood there

every morning

spreading melancholy

and peanut butter

on your toast.

Somedays I lost my sense of self-

like the way I can never keep my converse laces tied up,

and eventually I choose to ignore them

because they’re inconvenient.

Your own sentiments were too important

for me to interrupt them with my

petty little pebbles and thoughts.

I stood there

every morning

staring into oblivion-

or was it the fridge?

I forget.

I was the sentinel at my post,

waiting for your reaction.

waiting for something that would never truly arrive.