And tonight I will kiss someone who is nice but likes me far too much, and on the walk home, the sidewalk tunneled by trees, I’ll remember parts of you I had forgotten, like how your lips are slanted and how you always find a way of showing back up just when I thought you had left for good, and I’ll fall asleep to a guided meditation titled EIGHT HOURS OF SUBLIMINAL HEALING FOR SLEEP because I always turn back to gods I don’t believe in, and the last time I saw you, we were in my backyard watching the sun fade behind skyscrapers, and I thought about how I live in the city but not really; how we’re far out from the center where the public transit isn’t as good, and we can see the skyline in full, so it feels like we’re in the next town over, and you said that the skyline from all the way out here looks apocalyptic, something out of a zombie movie where we can hear screams and watch the world on fire, waiting for it to catch up to us, and I knew you were thinking about leaving so I didn’t say when the world ends, I’d like to survive it with you, and said instead let me know if you ever get around to missing me, and you are long gone now, but the skyline is not, and I see you in it, how the florescent windows light up the sky snuff out the stars, and I think about how I don’t want to be angry, but I’d like a break from being sad, so I feel that storm sending its clouds ready to wash the city away, and so I’ll do what I always do by waiting waiting waiting for the storm to pass.