What Are We?

What are we?

You text me; I come.

I text you; you come.

When we don't text, I miss you.

When we don't text... do you miss me?

What are we?

We haven't spoken in a few weeks.

My life's been a lot lately, and somehow, I'm thinking of you.

You were thinking of me too, because right now, you text.

You say you hope I'm doing well.

You ask how Michigan was.

That's right. We haven’t spoken since my trip to see my mom.

It was good. Relaxing... except the drive.

You say you're just getting back from New York. Apparently, your dad lives there. You make a point to see him once a year.

Maybe I should have known that. I've spoken to your dad... briefly. Doubt he remembers it.

What are we?

Are we the kind of exes that hang out?

Are we even really exes, if our breakup was over me calling you my boyfriend?

Was that even really a breakup?

I ask if you want to meet up.

I've got nothing to do. I'm between jobs.

But really, I'm just lonely.

You ask what I have in mind.

Sinners. It's a new movie with vampires and Michael B Jordan.

Everyone's been recommending it, but I don't go to the movies.

Well... except on dates.

You haven't seen it either, but the last showing starts in five minutes.

So maybe we could do something else.

What are we?

I remember the first time you took me to karaoke.

I loved it. Watching you let go of fear and get in a zone.

You sounded terrible. I didn't care.

I sounded terrible. You didn't care.

Here we are again, but it's different.

Because we are different.

Last time, I wanted to impress you.

I wanted you to think I was pretty.

To want to watch me perform.

To kiss me.

I remember you leaning over the bar's upper platform, and I was still at our seats on the lower level.

We were speaking in the smooth, irreverent way we always do.

I didn't move. I was terrified to.

In my head, that moment, that angle, that proximity.

Was the perfect spot for a first kiss.

I think you had that same thought.

But you didn't act on it. Not yet.

Our first kiss came the next week.

At the bowling alley.  

Now, in this bar tonight there is no chance you'll kiss me.

But I still allow myself to hope.

What are we?

I drive home, on the verge of crying.

Because I want you.

You text me; I came.

But was I really there.

Or in my head, wondering if maybe you texted me because deep down... you want me too.

But you're scared to say so.

Because to you, a rejection is something you don't take back.

You walked me to my car.

And somehow, we started touching fingers.

It was stupid. It was intimate.

Embarrassingly, it felt erotic.

I made a joke. You laughed.

But secretly, I wanted you to take the hint.

You say you don't have the time to date.

And yet there we were. Tonight.

I text you; you came.

Tomorrow, we won't text.

And I'll miss you.

Tomorrow, we won't text.

Will you miss me?