I'm here wearing your Red Nike Shorts.

They are yours, you bought them but they are mine too, I wear them.

Where are you? I know the answer: a text away. 12,4274 miles away.

Why should I drive 30 minutes to tell you the same things I'm telling you now?

Why? I know the answer. No, I don't anymore.

I caught myself thinking I don't want to see you anymore.

Why? I know the answer: you don't exist.

Wait, you exist. My man does not exist.

My man is fake, a mannequin but there is no challenge.

I woke up thinking I was still yours. I am not anymore.

I woke up thinking you kissed someone else. And you did.

Why should I drive 30 minutes to tell you the same things I'm telling you now? 

I know the answer: I loved the sound of that motorbike.

Sometimes I am home, I hear a bike speed by and think it's you. I feel like those kids waiting for their parents to pick them up from school, sitting outside waiting.

But you never arrive. I am still waiting. Every day the teacher tells me to come inside to wait. I am still waiting.

But you will not change your mind. You are 12,4274 miles away.

No texts, no calls.

And I'm a kid whose father went out to buy cigarettes but never came back.