I thought you’d already broken my heart. When you told me you were seeing someone else. When you said we’d still be friends.
I played along until I started drinking on my own. I got drunk in my lounge room watching my favourite film, wondering if maybe I could get some joy from that.
But I watched as Huck grew old and alone, because he couldn’t forget the woman he loved.
And I said goodbye but in many more paragraphs, but told you in fewer words that I loved you and you had ruined me.
You called me at 10:57 worried about what goodbye had really meant, said we’d meet for coffee and then remembered I hated coffee.
Reminded me how long ago you’d told me you’d never love me. I reminded you that I could never forget.
I could see the tenseness in your jaw and you running your hand through your hair. Even though you aren’t here. I’ve memorised every line of your face.
And when you hung up I could feel the pain tear through me and the sound that left me was half scream and strangled sob and I asked my mother why you couldn’t leave it. I was drunk enough that losing you was okay.
But I sobered up at the sound of you calling my name over the phone and for a minute fooled myself that you cared.
Why’d you have to go and do that Sam. Why’d you have to make me love you all over again?