You can't understand why I can't read
the scratches on the coffee table
you put there with a fork.
I just don't want to admit I get it-
you're wrong every time,
but your eyebrows point stiffly down
in assuredness that makes you look
like a little girl about to cry.
Still, if I could make you know
that I don't remember when we met, I would,
so I wouldn't have to be the only one who leaves.
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