I wish I could stop looking at your Facebook page, and if I had
any self-control, I would, but I honestly can’t peel my eyes off of
your most recent status update
about being in a relationship with someone else.
I remember when you invited me over to your house
and introduced me to your three sad cats, after which we discussed
existential philosophy and Socrates for three hours
while drinking coffee; you remembered I only drank decaf,
and I keep liking all your photos from two years ago
even though I know it’s wrong and maybe somewhat creepy.
If I could bury this heart under forty tons of dirt, I would,
but it’s just so heavy that even a professional weight-lifter
couldn’t pick it up with his own bare hands,
the same way if you were a religion I would paint crosses
on your spine with my tongue, and I’d always go to Communion
if it meant the thing we’d be praying over was you.
But I know from your info page that you’re an agnostic,
and I don’t want to infringe upon your civil liberties,
so for now I’ll stick to admiring you from behind this screen,
even though I wish I could be sitting with you in a movie theater
right now instead, with you doing that one obvious trick
where the guy pretends to stretch, when really he’s just trying
to put his arm around the girl.