Can’t Take It Back

You have missed me, haven’t you?

Of course you have. You have missed the way my hair fell across my face when I was read­ing in the library, and the way the light from those lit­tle lamps on the study tables shone across my face.

You have missed the way I answered the phone, too: con­fused at first at the silence at your end of the line, then annoyed, irri­tat­ed, and final­ly a bit scared, after it had been going on like that for near­ly a year. You have missed watch­ing me, too, from the park across the street from my apart­ment, or from your car when I was out shop­ping or with friends. You must have enjoyed that, to have kept it up for so long: now you have to find some oth­er way to fill your time.

You looked so hap­py when you final­ly came through my bed­room win­dow that night, so thrilled to final­ly meet me. You didn’t seem to mind that I did not share your excite­ment. But then you seemed so dis­ap­point­ed when it was over so quick­ly, so sad that in smoth­er­ing my screams you had stopped me breath­ing, too.

Don’t you wish now you had just kept watch­ing?

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