To the one who was not 'the one'.
You research my every curve to etch it into your finest memories.
I glance hastily at you, remembering to buy ketchup.
The smear on your mouth is embarrassing.
Your wings are spread, a seagull waiting to pounce on a
tuna sandwich, perfection from the bird's eye.
I am your alka-seltzer tab.
You're putting your hand on mine as your tears flow, distorting
my image into hand-selected wishes that you require.
My hand, it struggles.
You are on your knee, stationary for the moment.
My legs are free.