Our love, if that’s what it was and we said that it was but I’ve found words to be take-back-able the next day or on the phone later the same day as saying them, was a snippet, compilation tape, best of, highlights, skipping terrible bits. But I remember them.
You told me to be sure but I never have been and I’ve eked out over-time in your bedroom, at your computer desk, in the knowledge it was hot outside and we should be out in it but we’d rather be inside instead. And if I had a gut feeling, I had a hundred of them, and so few days off, and tellings off.
I got gut feelings and tried to start sparks like girls in movies using Brownie skills, igniting fires in backyards and campsites. But I couldn’t complete a sentence past a film recommends.
And the missing conversations ache less because they’re metres closer to a restart.