little black books full of words
for her, things she may never read.
(she doesn't deserve to)
the bear in my rocking chair
is now decorated
with your favorite hat
& the sunglasses i claimed to hate
(because i couldn't see your eyes,
only my reflection).
my favorite song played on guitar,
with me as your only audience.
things to remember you by.

at this moment,
right here, right now,
i'm okay.
okay with the fact you're going to be
three hours away
& that those nightly phone calls
when my pseudo insomnia kicks in
won't be as accessible as before
even though we both say
that they will -
we both realize things will change.

you won't always be here
to stop by with a vanilla milkshake,
a banana for yourself
(i'll never understand your tastebuds).
you won't always be here
to massage my shoulders
because you know it calms me down
when i frequently stress out.
you won't always be here
to play the license plate game
(& win, because of your unfair advantages)
or to call shotgun
when it's already been willed to me.
you won't always be here
so i can argue with you
for the sake of arguing
when you know i'm only being difficult
because i can.
you won't always be here
to sit with me in the floor
talking about everything that bothered us
because i'm the only one you depend on.

i know when you say
that you'd be down here in an instant
(if i really needed you to)
that it is the truth.
say what you mean, mean what you say
but i can't expect that to happen.
i've already expected too much of you.
but i know i'll still be talking to you
late at night
if i really can't sleep.
if that cd that i'll set on repeat
(especially for me, from you)
won't persuade my eyes to close.

you became my attachment,
regardless of your attempts to prevent it.