Something happens, and I am reminded that

all of the good words have been taken by the 80s.

I can’t write you a heavy synth song, penned in black kohl;

can’t dip my heart into inderivative hair dye—

there’s no such thing, really.

***

Something happens, and I am reminded that

I can’t call you.

***

Something happens, and I am reminded that

I can’t hug you.

***

Something happens, and I remember that

I’d forgotten to miss you for 5 whole fucking minutes.

***

There are 300 seconds in 5 fucking minutes, and 3,600 seconds in 1 hour, which means there are 86,400 seconds in 24 hours, or 1,440 fucking minutes in a goddamned day, which means there’s a lot of fucking time spent forgetting to remember that you’re dead.

***

And I can’t even manage to write you a love song.

(image: slate.com)