if you love me, keep it to yourself.

have you ever seen the way the floor can move—
the way sound follows your feet, pressing into the shoes you once wore?

looking out my bedroom window,
into other windows,
looking into other windows,
looking into my reflection.

would my reflection ever look so happy again?
to the face of a mystery bride—

honey, maybe your other boyfriends are looking for me in your reflection?
maybe they want to learn
how to make you cum 2,000 times a day.

the flour in the cracks of my counter,
starting to feel less wholesome, more whoreish.

questions about your past, simple answers.

complexity is so scary though—what are you hiding?

does it even count as hiding? or just leaving out the truth?

how much truth left out is too much truth left out?

a natural actress, you can tell.
you’ll write to me every day, right?

write me your sweetest.