I catch a glimpse every once in awhile,
like ghosts of the life I’m living in the
reality where it all worked out.
(We always run out of coffee there.
There are more than two chairs in my
apartment. Apart from the “when are we
having kids?” argument, there’s
nothing to argue about).
There is a way to balance my life and your life
and I know it because I’ve done it (so long ago).
I’m better off in this empty apartment with
the ghosts of the life we never got to have,
but I’ve still got to pretend I don’t hear you
whispering the narrative of our aborted life,
whenever I close another door too quickly.