Saturday night & Chicago dreams.

i keep on telling myself that someday, everything will make sense. but i've finally realized that no, it won't,
& all we'll have are memories of standing in puddles,
my hair strung along my forehead that you almost
touched. fog, clinging to my coffee breath,
violin strings in the backs of our minds,
you sipping your peppermint tea in the rain.

one year later, i'll scrub counter tops & feel
my way through icy basements
& dream about chicago in all its glory,
pouring coffee & sweeping dust
into a bank account

& at home on saturday night,
i'll find two dead flies lying beneath a lamp
their small bodies fragile & overturned,

dead to the world, i'll stare
at them for hours on a saturday night.
this is reality.

i'll leave the light on
dream of chicago & violin strings & the places we
could have gone.