Tempted to say he’s lucky, maybe even you too, but you two seem more assigned than found and it’s hard for me of all people to believe congrats are in order if chance is dealing you that kind-of-sort-of maybe hand when it dealt us a full house even though I folded, I know,

so cheers it is instead.

It’s your birthday today anyway—here’s to sincerity,

and sincerely hoping you get what you gave, as the song goes, today, any day, these days, all days,

whatever you want, whatever that is, that is,

because four days ago we talked face to face for the first time in nine months and you know what? I think I realized I sincerely don’t know anymore. Not a clue.

A strange thought, that, after believing I knew all this time and probably somehow dumbly assuming I always would, and I think it’s why I went, and why I was so sad after, deflated even, finding out I don’t and feeling a bit like you don’t either, watching you hurry away down the sidewalk back to your life without looking while I meandered into traffic to cross the street back to mine, glancing over my shoulder like something behind me might be different. 

But maybe I’m wrong, maybe you know exactly what you want, maybe you have it,

so here’s to hoping that’s true, and that he knows it too. That’s all that matters, really, because I still know it’s what matters to you.


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About mischa

I write things about stuff, and sometimes stuff about things. Depends on the day.