That first night I wore camouflage and lost the jacket but found you.
I lost myself that night. Most all at once then the rest in the days I loved you.
The man who moved into the apartment after we’d left blew his head off somewhere in the room we used to sleep. I stared at the message on my phone years later.
Sometimes when I can’t sleep my mind goes back to him. Tonight. How he used the same shower and opened the same blinds. Or maybe he stopped.
I’m reminded of fresh groceries for dinners we made in the beginning before they were replaced by beer cans and half eaten red and white boxes. I wonder if his looked like ours.
I wonder if I’ll ever be the same.