every time i bought a drink, it went on a napkin. i would drink to forget about him. the cup would drip condensation like my eyes dripped tears. and i couldn’t forget about him because the napkin filled with words about him. i wrote for him then.

every time i laid in bed for sleep, my mind stayed awake to think about him. i didn’t want to listen but my ears were tuned in. so the light would turn back on and my pad of sticky notes filled with words about him. i wrote for him again.

every time i cooked, i pulled out index cards to write the new recipes. yet my hand didn’t want to write about spices. my fingers ached to hold his. i traded meatballs for longing and my scattering of index cards filled with words about him. i wrote for him some more.

every time i recalled the good and the small things, i pulled out my journal to record for looking back. but was my heart not in it? did i not want to look back on what was said to me in the morning? my heart took over my thoughts and the pages filled with words about him. i never seem to run out. i keep writing for him.

but i can't dedicate a single word to him.