So many answers to the one question,

diffuse tiny quarrels. Unlove. Was it 

ok to’ve learned to love (and take pop songs) 

from those I'd spurned? Passing phantoms on the 

road home of onetime partners wronged: I was 

prickly, yes, callous and petty (sorry)

and nearly cried for what I'd whispered once

but the wishful welling lessened, smushed in

by blocky fingers, transposed into a 

blunt depression. Fooled into believing

this unbearable fall was just a song

one couldn’t listen to except alone

that only meant something to someone else,

I wasn’t ever really cool at all.