Before you ask,
yes, I've been counting.
I need something to do with these restless thoughts of mine,
so I've been counting the days since I last saw you.
I hope you're doing okay,
wherever the hell it is you've decided to run away to
this time. I wish you were here.
So I could finally tell you how angry I am with you,
even if it's just from six feet away.
And so I could make sure you were safe.
But with you being so far away,
I can't keep track of what kind of trouble you're getting yourself into.
Not that it's any of my business anyway.
I'm 49 days removed from being someone that's responsible for caring about you.
* * *
I dyed my hair. Twice.
I know you said my natural color was the best color, but you were wrong
because I look damn fierce in red.
Even the mailman thinks so.
Your sister keeps calling me,
wondering if I've heard from you in the last month and a half.
It's nice to know I'm not the only one you're hiding from.
I heard the grocery store is out of toilet paper again
and I hope your house is too.
Good luck finding something to clean up all your shit with.
What I mean is,
I heard they're talking about letting people go outside again.
And I wish I were happier about that,
but I know that if I leave this house
I'll have to go back to pretending like I haven't spent the last 49 days
thinking of you.
* * *
I'm sorry I wrote this. I know I shouldn't have.
Truthfully, I think this pandemic was good for us.
At least now we have a reason to stay away from each other.
But if you do ever decide to come back, just know,
I'm still counting.