I am already years from this moment, sitting at my computer at 3 AM, looking at photos of you on the internet, wondering if you are happy with the person you are loving instead of me. I am searching for a sign of unrest, of a reason why you might want to try again with someone like me; someone who broke you open and left you a mess.
Years from now, there will be a photo of you on Facebook with a baby on your lap, eyes like yours, hair like someone else; or a photo of you on a vacation on a white sand beach or at the top of some great cliff. There will be a shadow somewhere just above or just beyond or just to the left of you, the blur of another person’s cheek, and I will wonder if that person loves you as much as I could have, if I had just taken that chance.
I am already ten years from today, from tonight, from tomorrow, without you. I wonder these days how I will get there—what kind of journey I will have to endure to go from thinking about you every time I pick up my phone to only daring to think about you in the glowing darkness of 3 AM.