The Places You’ve Ruined

The shower. Cause you fucked me in the shower. I’ve never been fucked it the shower and frankly, it was lovely. But you know how often people shower? Frequently. That’s how often. And now every time I’m in there, I’m thinking about that time we fucked in the shower and then next thing I know I’m on conditioner application #4 and why does my shampoo remind me of you? That’s completely unfair. It’s my shampoo for heaven’s sake! Not yours. Or at least that’s how it used to be. 

That street that I pulled over on when I was waiting for your stupid text message to see if you wanted to go with me to run errands. Why didn’t I just go on my own? Why did I wait? Why am I always waiting on you? That stupid corner of 23rd street is ruined cause of my own shame— I should learn to not care, right. But here I am, idling on the street corner two blocks from your house, hoping that you will join me for an adventure. 

The stupid taco place that I drive you to when you’re drunk. I need to stop doing you favors. I need to let you miss me or something. Then maybe you’ll want this to happen again. Or will you? Or do you not care? Any way. That’s your taco place now. It was never mine to begin with. But it’s yours in my mind, now. 

My couch. You’re always sleeping over on my couch and then when I get up in the morning and find you there you give me a sleepy “good morning” and go right back to sleep. Usually straight through your 7 alarms. Cause you’re the hardest person in the world to wake up. It’s unreal. And don’t use the couch all that much anyway, but when I do, my brain meanders down a dangerous path. A path that generally leads to you. 

My phone screen. Where text message notifications are a game of Russian Roulette and your name is the bullet. Ok. Now my heart is racing. Did I keep the conversation going? Was I supposed to? Did I respond too quickly? Do I seem desperate? And why in the name of all things holy do you have read receipts on? You want to give a girl a heart attack. (All your actions point to yes).

My bed. A third of my life spent here. And I don’t want to put anything else down cause it feels too detached from what really happened. But it felt like when you take chocolate chip cookies out of the oven at the exact right time and they are the perfect shade of golden brown and how do you describe that to someone without understating the importance? Well. My bed is ruined. Cause it’s not just a bed. It’s a bed where we were. 

But of all the places that I can’t go anymore without thinking of you, my mind is the one I need to reclaim the most. But it’s yours. 

Thank god you’ve yet to infiltrate my heart. Cause dear god, I think I might lose it if one more space of mine is annexed to you.