If you liked me
this would all have gone
much differently.
You’d have jumped at the chance
to see my apartment
and then jumped at the chance
to clean it.

You’d have returned my calls
the week in which I’d have made them
and mirrored my interest in your fucking cats
who probably should be going to a kitty therapist
for couples counseling.
If you’d liked me
you would probably remember my middle name
and my first.

I’m not great at signals;
I’ve said it before.
I’ll say it again
but I’m getting better at reading them
maybe because you’ve gotten so good
at making your point known
without having the conviction
to say it out loud.

I know you don’t want me:
Your every pore tells me so.
I got the message
clearly, loud
but it can’t stop me
from reaching out irregularly
because I really think
you should reconsider.

About Jonathan Berger

I used to write quite a bit more.
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