Not Running Into You
if i have nothing to say to you, that’s the same as having everything to say to you.
coming home from the party where i saw you for the first time since “we’ll never be friends again.” you froze like a deer in headlights. i froze like a bull about to charge. there was a story of distance between us. a story as in narrative, but also a story as in the difference of a staircase. so it might not have been you. it might’ve just been a random “her.” the distance gives you plausible deniability. but i stared at you like a car crash and you stared at me like someone who owes me an apology. so it must have been you. chappell dropped “the subway” and i dropped my guard. chappell can’t wait til you’re just another girl on the subway and i can’t wait til i don’t know you by the back of your head.
the distance between us could be solved by a resigned embrace or a punch in the face. i sweat through the night imagining all the ways i’d brush past you as if i haven’t bled on your sheets. all the ways i’d tell you to fuck off. all the ways i’d tell you you’re gonna get what’s coming.…