Inventory of Poems, Promises, the Things I Lost Along the Way, and the Grocery List
People like to say
what’s meant for you will find you.
but they forgot to mention,
finding "that" was not easy.
They don’t mention the nights it cost,
the faith spent in advance.
So when that finally shows up,
don’t treat it like it’s replaceable.
And if you have nothing else left to give,
at least offer certainty.
Because certainty outlives sincerity.
And sometimes,
the shortest poem in the world
is just someone’s name.
Today, I wrote a list.
A mix of the things I need
and the parts of me I’ve lost.
- Pasta — I wanted to make pesto
- Instant coffee
- 1/100 of my heart — every time your eyes wandered (funny, right?)
- A can of tuna
- I probably need a book
- 60/100 more of my heart — every time you remembered something about someone but me
- 5/100 — when you turned on disappearing messages with her
- 99.9/100 of my forever — the night you made me cry
- Toothpaste
- Shampoo (yes, still necessary)
- 95/100 of my belief in your words — when “sorry” and inconsistencies started dressing up as “trying”
- 96.5/100 of my laughter — stained by memories I can’t unsee
- 98/100 of my trust — my gut screaming while I kept shushing it
- Room air freshener
- 99/100 of the safety I once felt — erased by the same conversations, repeated, unchanged
- Lip balm
- Sunscreen
- Toner
- The last tiny piece of me that still believed you’d choose us
- Lipstick — because I want to buy it
So here’s the plan.
I’ll go out.
I’ll buy every single thing on this list.
And when I come home,
I hope the only thing missing
is you.
— Not yours anymore