I did

And if you ever come around to ask me why I didn’t stay,
why didn’t I continue to pick up your calls in the A.M.
how, in the year and a half that we’ve been apart, did I find the
audacity to let it go
I hope that you know—
that I missed the sunlight on your face,
that I couldn’t see the freckles and sunspots
that I loved so much,
if you only held me in the dark—
that I have missed the childish laying-on-our-backs
(in-the-middle-of-the-street-and-night)
connecting the constellations and
our standing-in-pouring-rain, screaming type of
fights,
that I haven’t found the comfort in
kissing the way I did, with you
that I’m still thankful when you taught me
How To Really Kiss.
that I’ve missed the 4AM drives
and your humor that brought out mine—
that I’ve missed it all so much
that every time I write,
I probably hurt somebody who
loves me,
at the time.

So what changed,
you asked,
the static barely making out
your voice
that I used to miss so much
that I would dig up old videos
of us,
just to hear
again and again
until the tears would come.
“I did.”
I did, I did, I did.
And I can’t be sorry for moving on
and finding somebody who loves me—
all the time
and
all at once.