You Are Not My Girlfriend

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Original Poetry / Relationships

Sitting in the terminal
I think of you
and that trip we never took.
The one you suggested
on our first date.
On all those dates.
That began somewhere on the way to Hollywood.
Beyond the lights
to a litle black stage
where I didn’t know what would happen.
All I knew was that I was dressed up
and you’d be there.
Pushing people out of the way
so I could see,
buying me drinks,
making me laugh.
And then we’d come home,
read each other George Saunders,
make breakfast,
brush our teeth,
put on the radio,
and go to bed.

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