I hope you never introduce me to another person.
I hope I never escort you anywhere,
that I’m never your date or your coroner
I’m no Virgil.
I hope you forget about my crooked toes
and the crooked way I stand.
I hope I can forget the way your face always looked like Summer.
I hope you never learn how to grow bell peppers,
because they’re my favorite.
I hope I never roll onto you in the middle of a nightmare,
but I hope you have nightmares every time you close your eyes,
and that you wake up right before they turn pleasant.
I hope your days are long and your nights are reminders of how good I was at brushing my teeth.
I hope your bank accounts are all overdrawn, usually.
I hope that if you call a girl ‘baby’ in a bar, she gives you an unnecessarily lengthy feminist lecture, reminding you that you’ve grown so out of touch with your own body- you’re a woman with a hot air balloon for a mind.
I hope you never get a good view of the mountains,
that there is always construction outside of your window.
I hope your dog runs away and is adopted by a lovely family, consisting only of content adults with master’s degrees.
I hope you try to write a song but can’t remember how to shape your fingers around the neck of your tiny guitar.
I hope you are far, far away from my front porch.
I hope you gain twelve pounds, and they all show up when you try to button your favorite jeans.
I hope you know what it means to reach for your jar of fancy honey and watch it slip out of your hands and onto the tile floor-
I hope you learn how awful it is to try to clean honey with a mop.
I hope you lose your wallet full of money at a bus stop,
because your car had a factory recall and you won’t have it for a couple days…
I hope your job pays ten percent less next year, because they had to cut back.
I hope you step on a tack.
One that I left on my desk when I walked out of your life.
I hope you miss me tonight.