i imagined how this would be. me hurting you for the last time and you leaving. never talking to me again except maybe a phone call on christmas, your favorite holiday, not mine. we would eventually get over one another and move on, you would buy antony and the johnsons on vinyl for a new girl and i would buy another grown man his first tea kettle, hoping that he would let me smoke cigarettes inside his house during the winter while i drank the tea he made. she would take over my tradition of buying you a new christmas ornament for your tree each year but they would never mean as much to you, there would never be as much thought put into it. she would always trust you and never go through your notebooks or your phone. but you would lie to her when she asked if you ever thought of me, if you ever missed me. and you did both of those things and you always would. i would find someone who wanted to marry me and i would eventually call you up and tell you the good news, asking you for advice, "do you think i can actually love the same man.. forever?" you'd be in your late forties, trying to hold on to what youth you still had. she'd actually be your age though this time. You would hear the excitement in my voice, the smile. you would never put a ring on anyone's finger. The closest I got to that was a ring with a moon stone that you gave me on some holiday or birthday. I would still wear it, switching it from finger to finger, making room for the ones he would buy me. You both would sit in the same apartment, you finally giving in and letting her move in with you. You at your desk writing, her bored and wondering what her old friends were up to or reading marie claire or some other trash magazine wondering when the next touch would come. and i wish i could tell her that it won't ever show up, that things dont change with people. they stay the same they just get older and more set in their ways. and when i invite the both of you to the wedding she silently cries in the shower because she knows that she is stuck unless she leaves, unless she breaks your heart, unless she becomes brave. she doesnt know what being brave is so she breaks your heart instead, the only way she knows how to get out, the only way anyone knows how to get out. this is what i imagine, sitting with you, watching some horrible television show that we've both already seen. this is what i think about while i fall asleep on the couch and you crawl off to my bed not waking me, not putting an arm around me at night, not kissing me or touching me. and i always imagined this is how it would be.