I ask Alexa to tell me
how long fresh flowers will survive.
“If cared for properly,
flowers can stay fresh for seven to twelve days.”
Your flowers are on their seventh day.
How far will we get?
“I know the romantic thing to do is to bring you roses, but they looked like trash and smelled like shit. So, I attempted to make my own bouquet for you out of these. They smell kind of like cedar. Definitely not my best work, but I am hoping you appreciate the gesture.”
My exact words to you are hazy;
in that moment, I had everything and nothing.
How far will we get?
Our reunion influences me to consider your motives
and recount the words I said to you
while lying in your arms.
“Are you crying?”
“When am I not crying?”
How far will we get?
I picture the flowers on your countertop.
I wonder if they are eager for you,
knowing that they have certainty in your return.
How far will we get?
I wash my bedding
for the second consecutive week,
as if there is a possibility that I can
wash away the hope of a future with you.
How far will we get?
“I just had a fucked up thought.”
February 19, 2024.
We are lying in my bed.
“You never leave your thoughts unsaid.”
As if you have to convince me.
“What if this is our one hundred percent?”
How far will we get?