You looked me dead in the eye
And told me I’ve changed.
Your eyes spit fire,
And your words dripped poison.
The sentence slid down my throat,
Slicing up my sanity
As it pitted at the bottom of my stomach,
Taking my heart with it.
What has changed?
The two quarters in my pocket?
The time, perhaps?
My eyes screamed confusion,
While yours whispered goodbye.
The only thing that changed
Was the direction you now faced.
My arms reach out to turn you back around;
To turn the invisible clock back to 11:15pm,
When my room felt like summer,
And not so much like winter.
My fingertips graze across your ghost,
As my knees caps meet the wooden floor.
My mind is a record player,
And I’m hitting replay
By the twentieth “you’ve changed,”
My realization pressed the pause button.
It was never me that changed.
It was you.
I was the song you played on a constant loop
Because you loved it so.
But as time went on,
You eventually stopped listening to the lyrics,
And then my song altogether.
My CD was ejected and a new one was put in.
Her song soon replaced mine.
Her genre is your new favorite.
But instead of throwing my CD away,
You kept me around, just in case.
I guess two is better than one,
If you ever read this,
I ask for one favor.
When you do change again,
Don’t blame her.
And whatever you do,
Don’t change her.
Because change can’t be paid for
With broken apologizes,
Or with the two quarters
In my pocket.
© 2022 Bryson Garvin