I’d call it muscle memory —
The way I instinctively reach for my phone to call you,
The way I pretend you’re around all the time,
The way I hope every notification is you.
They tell me to behave like the person I want to be.
What if all I want to be is yours?
How much longer do I have to keep pretending
That it is real, until it is real?
Will I ever get to feel your cold warmth again?
I never knew which version of you
I would greet at the door that evening.
I don’t know if I want you.
All I know is that there is an empty seat next to me,
And there is the idea of one person who I want here.
I wish it was muscle memory for me to call someone else.
Such a funny thing, muscle memory —
It keeps reaching for what I’m trying to forget.
- Ria <3