do you remember?

do you remember all the places you lied to me?

three months after you told me you loved me for the first time
(finally)
when I was soaked in grief and you told me you were drowning
when I choked on salt water because you told me it would save us
(it didn’t)
you never told me you had a life jacket

at the top of your hill, the one named after monarchs
(it was your idea)
one year after we told our families
when I looked at the san diego skyline and saw our future sprawled among the eucalyptus
when I was still foolish enough to believe you wanted that future too
(you didn’t)
you sent her a photo of the sunset we watched

in new york, on my birthday
(seriously)
when you saw my sister break my heart and decided it wasn’t enough
when we didn’t turn the lights on when we got home and I thought it meant we were happy
(we weren’t)
you told me I was special to you

under a blanket of snow, hidden by sheets of glaciers
(happy valentine’s day)
when you kissed me in public and I thought maybe you were finally proud to be with me
when I felt my jaw unclench and found rest in our make-believe life
(let’s go back)
i took the pictures of you that you sent to them

two weeks after we bought the dishes and paid the deposit
(this broke me)
when I saw a heavenly light in your eyes but it turned out it was just you setting me on fire
when we poured the wine and when we were cooking dinner and making our bed
(it was never really ours, was it?)
i’ll never unpack someone else’s box again