five november
eleven : fifty-one a.m.

listen, it's you again. you're all over my mind, and it doesn't make sense for me to be missing you. i've found one picture. you look different, older, that forced smile, a new hairstyle, but i keep going back to it.

i hear you're an accidental father now.

i send her a hurried message, my mind racing with the idea of being with you for just an hour, a minute. how am i going to get married if i can't stop picturing him in that sweater, standing in the tea aisle.