I asked “When you told your friends you don’t love me anymore, how did they feel?” and you said “Not surprised.”
Three days later you posted a photo and your friends were like “You’ve never looked happier!!!” and they were right.
My friends don’t ask me where you are anymore because they know I don’t know.
I guess we were ships crashing in the night.
So now my memory of you is like money in a glass case in the sea: beautiful, untouchable, distorted, seductive, sinking. Or maybe it’s money dropped out of a helicopter into the sea and I’m on some twisted game show frantically grasping for bills and trying not to drown.
Because in your letters you quoted the poem but never its ending:
Watching the wind whisk the money away
out to sea. Watching the case splash
below — mystical, insignificant —
instantly erased by waves.
It’s like I went to the beach and scavenged sticks and stones and red seagrass and self-ashored kelp and fashioned a replica of your hair and now I’m sailing the globe searching for moon-faced bald women with fangs.
And it’s so corny but I kept thinking about the Third Eye Blind song that’s like “How’s it gonna be / when you don’t know me anymore?” and I guess the answer is like this.
For more like this, check out “Rejected Titles (For what you’re about to read).”