letters to nobody

Day 1:
I saw a lake hidden behind the mountains
that was the colour of your eyes-
so teal and so dark.
I couldn't stop watching the water ripple and wonder
to myself what you'd say if I told you I was here without you.
I didn't hold your hand
on the drive through the fog,
but I kept squeezing my fist shut
wondering what you'd do if I did.
We'd have nothing to talk about because I think
I've said enough already.
You I would never be sure of,
but I'm sure you'd think of something
to tell me to make my eyes smile as wide as my mouth would.
The sun beat down on me
and kissed my skin a little too hard,
and I know that if you were the one I was with,
you would have told me to wear sunscreen.
You weren't,
so I didn't.
The pontoon wasn't exactly my idea of fun,
since I couldn't pay attention to anything
except how fast I was moving and what little control I had,
and all I could think of looking at the waves
was what you'd say if I told you
it scared me.
The fire roared and shot sparks into the air
and I couldn't help but notice
how it smelled like you.

It seems my mind
believes that you'd have endless gallons
of words pouring from your lips,
to commentate on my every move or joke.
I forget that you've never been
the talkative one.
I keep thinking you're still mine in some cosmic way,
and that maybe we've just fallen off track.
I haven't even kissed your lips
in just shy of two years.
I think I still remember
what you wore the day we got rained on,
but I can't seem to recall
how we ever became an "us."

Day 2:
Today the sky looked a lot more sad,
and the water could swallow you whole.
The mountains looked like an unknown Eden
I couldn't seem to find my way to.
Somehow the raspberry vodka looks better and better
by the second,
because all I seem to want is to forget.

All I want is to forgot how your lips melded against mine,
or your number,
or how the first time you said you loved me in person,
you left me standing on the sidewalk
in front of the whole town speechless.
I hate remembering what could have been so great,
or so terrible.
I hate remembering that I'll never know
what we could have become.
I hate remembering
how losing you meant losing my faith in a higher power
because God,
when all you ask is for someone to stay
and they leave,
there's nothing left to pray to.
Losing you meant screaming at a wall,
it meant watching myself bleed
and not giving a shit if it hurt.
Losing you meant losing myself,
and I promise,
I've looked,
and there's no finding her.

She gives me hints
as to where she's gone
when I hear a train coming,
when I see a full bottle of liquor sitting untouched,
when smoke fills my lungs
like a sad excuse for helium
in some party balloons,
or when I look down from the top of a building.

Day 3:
Today I'll be driving to a city
I'm going to spend my life in.
I'll leave the mountains and the wood cabin
and I'll be a province away from you.
You probably don't care,
you've got deer to hunt
and appearances to maintain.
You don't even know the girl
you said was gonna be your wife
is six hours away,
and she's making herself a mess.
Fortunately,
losing you made her gain some common sense,
and when she gets down,
thinks she misses you,
and goes to text you,
she always clicks "cancel."

I promise
I always will click "cancel."
I just hope you do the same.
If you don't,
I will reply back
and I promise I will always click
"send."