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You are living in the space
between me turning off a tap
I left running
and dealing with the shock of terrible news.

I am the difference
between the certainty
of household chores
and hours lost in hot showers.

You are an idea
which seemed perfectly reasonable
until I woke up to write it down.

I am something happening right now
that you remember imagining years ago.
Every detail is the same – it is hard for you to believe.

You are a false memory
planted by an adoring mother.
An event of great importance recounted at family dinners.

I am the reason you binged on chocolate cake
and are now retching into the toilet –
realising that you still refuse to let go.

The world is burning
and all I can think of
is to call over and ask you out.

Your place is on fire…
all your things are going up in smoke…
I understand that you must be very busy right now.

We have not been back this way for ages,
but we still see everything that happens here –
it is always hard to admit to such things.

Anyway, I’ve decided to tell you that I love you,
and that I regret nothing –
not even all this time we’ve wasted.