my life -- when it wasn’t like this

he writes to say that it was a year ago
now
when he rode the train every night
impatiently
in from London
to see me
drunk with the thought of his hands swimming in my hair
filled with anticipation of the scent of it
and the desire to be near the remembered curve of my body

I click delete
and won’t respond
because there’s someone knocking on the door
but he didn’t run ten blocks from the train station in the rain
just to see me

all i want to do now -- is pack my bags and jump on a plane
silly lost memories