cliches about missing you

about twenty-four hours after you had to leave
i will probably be in class (without having smuggled
you in), preoccupied with world war one
or x-linked genetic disorders.

about twelve hours after you had to leave,
i will probably be staying up too late again
(but not because i want onemorekiss
before we finally pass out tangled in the sheets).

life will return, more or less, to normal.

six hours after you had to leave
i was sitting on the bed in my dorm room,
rubbing the ring on my finger
that came down from indiana on your thumb,
wrapped in the same blue and brown blankets
you tried to hide your face in when you came
twelve hours ago (you failed).

twenty-four hours ago you were here.
forty-eight, seventy-two, ninety-six hours ago,
you were in my arms.

two hundred seventy-two hours ago,
before you came here,
i had never seen you before my life–
but now that you had to leave
(five hours and 18 minutes ago)

i can’t remember what it was like,
not waking up to the imprint of my sheets on your cheek
or falling asleep with visions of your freckles.

i almost wish that i was blind,
or that i could rewind time.

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