Week 11

"I miss you,
even when I'm sober,"
he said,
as if that was what love was.
Maybe it was.
Who am I to say that he didn't love me?
That he didn't fantasize about
holding my hand,
kissing my forehead,
giving me my three little children.
Or maybe
he was just drunk and lonely.
These things are better left as they are.
I never picked up the phone.