the toy you want

your name on my lips at a party full of strangers at the end of someone else's tram line. big houses with trimmed lawns. neighbourhoods that would feel just as alien in the sun. I play the shadow of a writer friend who knows the birthday girl, wearing silver to fade into the theme. he offers me wine in a paper cup and asks about you. wishing my answers were different / taking shape in brighter colours, my confession leaves me feeling even smaller. he knows how I feel and we can laugh about our bleeding hearts. we watch another of our friends unknowingly woo the affections of two boys by the pingpong table. their smiles obscure their rivalry. she laughs in blissful ignorance.

crawling through the witching hour I wash my face and fall into my pillow. I think about the gaps and beg my bedroom ceiling for an explanation. are you too kind to tell me what's changed? I cry because I'm tired of guessing and pretending not to care. I cry because we've stopped saying things we used to. I cry because I've let you see me and you've let me see you too. holding myself I play the supercut: your eyes under the lids of my own, in the dark, ghosts I've known and want to keep at least a little longer. I cry because you run like water, like the tears and days since hearing your voice.

the sun shines in the morning. I do my laundry and try not to think of you and whatever star you're chasing today. I miss you like you used to say you missed me. and I want to be the toy you want to play with again. how much does that make you want me less?