I no longer look for you in the faces
of passing strangers
But my breath still catches when I see
the back of your head
In the supermarket as I bag tomatoes
In the cheap plastic bags
That I hope don’t end up in the ocean
somewhere
But the thought that it might end up on the shore
closest to you
Comforts me in a sickening way
The first time I made spaghetti for dinner
You picked me up and spun me around
the small red kitchenette that barely fit us
My hip bumped into the countertop
and your apology fell like water
through gasps of laughter
I’m gonna marry you, someday
you had told me then
I’m making spaghetti for dinner
It’s still the only thing I know how to make
I know I’ve said it a million times before
But I would have loved to have been loved
by you
You found a girl that looks just like me
With her shoulder length curls
And the same blue eyes that you once
told me looked like gems
It was 9 pm on a Tuesday
You had school the next day
And I had work
But you asked me to come over
anyway
Just to sleep
you had whispered
We didn’t sleep until after midnight
and when we did
You fell asleep with your cheek flush against mine
and I wondered if this is what
Heaven felt like
My thumb presses too hard into
The soft skin of the red fruit in my hand
And the juice pools in my palm
And I’ve never been much of a swimmer
But I bag it anyway
And hope that it reminds you
Of me

---

By Sarah Heart

An international relations student living in Texas with three small children in the form of cats. She has recently taken up drinking coffee despite hating the taste.