by Qamar Jones
It’s late and tonight wears your perfume. But I do not want to be like those thirsty
girls with hungry lips, I do not miss you and I know I am better off without you.
Perhaps I miss your smile and the tone of your voice when you’re talking
passionately about something you love, and maybe your eyes and how the color
changes, and when you move your hands when you’re nervous and how your
vintage gold watch shines under the sun.
But I am not like those girls and I certainly do not miss you.
And I guess we all want what we can’t have, like we starve for summer in the
middle of December.
And I have been through enough to know that most things do not mean anything so
I’ll wear purple lipstick and move on.