The breakup

I rang you to ask

if you wanted to go

to the movies,

like I always did,

for it was our routine,

and I, in my naivety,

believed it would

always be so,

for we were us

and I and you

would always be

a truth.


I rang you in

my sincere routine

but in your hesitation

you told another truth

that you did not want

what we were now

and what we had become,

and you uttered coldly

those dreaded, dreaded words,

“I can’t see you again!”


I felt the heavy word “sorry”

hit me with a cosmic force,

as you said it with finality,

and then the call

ended with silence

and the static of the universe,

and that was all

that I was offered as

a chill goodbye in

the sober partial

light of muddied dusk

on a sweaty summer day.