If you can’t handle me, 
maybe you should try working
On your resiliency.
I wasn’t too much,
maybe a little crazy,
but you were just weak.
You held your arms out to me,
but you didn’t know the weight
of what you were about to carry. 
And I’d forgive you
for everything, 
but you’re not even sorry. 
I fantasize about
showing up on your doorstep
and get off to your apologies—
I know they’ll never come, 
but dreaming of these scenarios
is sort of comforting. 
And what was the point
of calling it love
just for you to end up running?
No strings, no commitment, 
I was so patient
and nothing good ever came from it. 
I have so many questions
but if I asked, 
I know you’d be monotone and oblivious. 
I was a personality hire
in the business of your life,
but budget cuts came
and I was the first to go. 
I guess this is what you get
when you try to love in a recession,
but it still felt like a low blow. 
And now that you’re alone, 
I hope you’ve got it all figured out
and your small mind finally started to grow. 
I’m buying seeds for my garden today
and all I can think about 
is heirloom tomatoes. 
Last summer you promised
to make me a sandwich with them
and Dukes Mayo. 
I didn’t rush it, 
thought we had many more moons,
but you decided to rip up all we’d sown. 
This time last year, 
I was entering a new season of life
and in you, I planted roots. 
Now I’ll stroll the aisles of this greenhouse,
and remind myself why
I need to fall out of love with you. 
I’ll bury seeds in the earth
and they’ll fill your void—
throw dirt on your empty promises
and in a few months,
I’ll have forgotten all about you.
I’m not sure I believe that,
but I hope it’s true. 

About the author:

Part of our Winter 2026 Issue. New stories, poems, and essays now through January 31, 2026.

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