the measurement of three

I had a dream I was talking to you

about something.

In the dream I knew

we were broken

up, but I saw you in

a room

with other people

and I got to tell you

things,

like I normally do.

You placed your hand

on my back, warm

(your hands were always warm)

while you were listening

to me tell you:

I didn’t get the job

that paid

$47 an hour.

That was the most important

thing I had to say,

I had to tell you.

And then you got up

to leave,

along with everyone

else, I didn’t want you to go

I felt you slipping away.

—

It’s hard missing

you seeing you

in my dreams

talking to you

about the most

mundane things

that don’t

really matter that

matter.

8 years you were

my friend,

5 and 1/2 you were

my boyfriend

10 days we’ve

been broken

up and that is truly

the longest of all

three measurements.

To not talk to you

about something

every day,

something,

leaves me hoping

for another dream,

for sleep.