I act like I don't care, but deep down swear I don't give a fuck.
I pretend we have run out of milk.
I pretend that you are at the grocery store.
and this absence
is nothing but temporary.
But then I wake up and the fridge is empty and
your car is gone
and I start a grocery list
and it ends up being a poem about you.
And I hate that your name still means something,
And I hate that you’re not picking up your phone,
and I hate that I can’t eat cereal
because you are taking so long
to get the damn milk.