I got a new pair
of shoes that don’t hurt,
and my neighbor finally moved out—
the one who played Creed at 3 a.m.
I learned how to cook
without setting off the smoke alarm,
and I’m down to one anxiety attack
per week, which feels
like winning something.
The dog’s still alive,
though slower. He limps
like he’s got secrets.
Anyway, I miss you.
Not in the way that stings—
more like a draft
through a cracked window
on a warm day.
Just enough to notice.
Call me back,
or don’t.
I’ll be here,
writing dumb blogs
and pretending
you’re still reading.