I miss the late nights;
the times we’d scream out the lyrics to the same songs we had been singing for 4 years;
piling into the smallest bedroom just because we could.
The last summer (when I hotboxed the living room every single day) was never given the respect it deserved. It was the last time we’d be in that place.
I remember it as the beginning of my recovery. It was the start to me feeding myself again. The first time in 3 years that I wasn’t obsessed with how I looked.
This isn’t a poem about my eating disorder though. (I’ve written plenty of those too, believe me)
This is a poem for you.
To all the times we stole each others’ food and claimed it as our own,
all the times we recounted our one-night-stands the next morning,
and every single “I love you, goodnight” that rattled the halls of our apartment,
It’s funny that all love poems kind of sound the same when you don’t know who they’re about.