I scan the music I like and listen too, waiting to catalog a song that reminds me of you.
The Killers do interviews with Apple Music, so I can’t attribute their new music to your moods, whims, if I ever could. But that’s a good thing, one more thing to find independence from the murk of you that still stirs in my mind.
The bathroom isn’t yours.
Crosswalks aren’t yours.
The benches at the beach aren’t yours anymore either.
Slowly, this city has filled in my nostalgia with new memories, new people, and in some reluctant but necessary way, I’ve moved forward, I’ve moved on, which makes it all the more surreal when I hear these voices talk about you, and my chest or stomach feels like it has butterflies again.
I know I loved you, my body won’t let me forget that. My body has been keeping score.
But I wish it would make room to love someone else.