Independence

Someday, I’ll wake up and not jump right out of bed to make your coffee. I’ll write a few lines of poetry without another page open so it looks like I’m doing something else. I won’t watch what I say when my friends call, not care what message I’m sending if I laugh a bit too hard. Someday, I’ll sit on the front porch watching people pass and say hello to everyone. I’ll read a book in silence from beginning to end without the television on in the background. I’ll sit on the couch with no shirt on and run my hand over the soft places you never noticed. Someday, I’ll walk the streets of Europe without sensing your lingering essence there. I’ll sip wine at an outdoor restaurant and never wonder if you’d shared that table with someone else. I’ll dance all night in a dive and return the shy smile of the girl behind the bar. I’ll wear a silky shirt that begs to be touched and jeans that stick to all the right curves and my eyes will pierce, and question, and invite. Someday, I’ll return to where I knew you and not think of you at all.