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Me, You, and the House

College Days

So immersed in the flavor of smoke,
they called it the bakery.
Tasted like warm comfort on a Sunday afternoon,
they practiced it like it deserved mastery.

Hearing midnight chatter in the basement,
they sought petty secrets through the walls
and each quiet argument was coupled
with two strangers making out in the halls.

The paint is chipped in the bathroom,
your roommates thought the neon Budweiser sign would be cool.
College life is sometimes a mystery,
since you never know what people will call you.

After the 2:00 a.m. rush of flailing white girls running out the bathroom
and into the dark ether of regrets.
I sat in the bedroom,
told you to get a new place or deal with setbacks.

Someone forgot to turn off the bass next door.
The mold on the carpet screams rookie mistake.
It’s suddenly another night of our quiet sharped tongues,
it’s suddenly another break of day.

I was so fed up,
I threw the pizza boxes onto the street.
I was a grenade in the lawn of disappointments,
exploding whenever we couldn’t take the war heat.

College boyfriends.
The only ones I ask myself what I was doing with.
But I knew sure as hell that during many nights,
I lied in my dorm room, smiled, and knew this euphoria was no myth.

We were everything we could be.
We were everything we shouldn’t have been.
I didn’t know who I was.
No one knew where you were goin’.

Slamming doors in the hallways
never added up to much.
We’d like to think it was worth it,
but we were moving this relationship with a crutch.

Now it’s a distant memory in the lit sky.
I wake up in my own apartment with curtains over the window.
Some days I wonder where you are.
Some days I understand it’s best not to know.

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Me, You, and the House
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