That sock under the table should mean nothing to me,
but it’s laying next to a bottle of nail polish remover
triggering memories of you and your black fingernails.

The fogged up windows of that minivan should register
only a casual glance as I walk by,
but it’s got me thinking about that night,
sitting in the back of the truck, writing notes on the windows.

And when your friends tell me that
what you’ve done is horrible, I should be able to agree,
but instead I can only remember all the moments
that made me fall in love with you again and again.

Because nothing works the way it should now, does it?
In three years you were engraved into
each and every square inch of my mind, so that,
for now at least, all the silly, little, insignificant things
bring back thoughts of you and me.