It was the rain, I guess, or private flux

I trod: Two cents I wasn't meant to hear

exchanged burrowed deep into my pockets;

upset my damp, complacent certitude:

“Should I not have said I miss them/him/her?

Rather, should I have said I miss us/you?”

I don't have to feel bad, but I do; worse

for taking the stairs too fast, staying on

amends dredged from the bottom of your purse:

How else could I pretend not to pretend 

that you can’t hear me when I'm all alone

in our apartment, to be glad I could 

not be, just like I'm glad that you happened

on me instead of choosing someone good?