I Hate It

The phone, never really out of my sight

and the temptation arrives often;

as often as I check e-mail or wash my hands.

I hate that I thought it would happen

that in some esoteric way we'd come together

or he'd suddenly be at the door with 

two plane tickets to paradise.

I guess I also hate the week after 

"my friend" comes to town.

I'm emotional, nostalgic, exacerbated

by oldies love songs on Sunny 107.1,

unwittingly diving into the deep end again.

But I'm lucky, I can snap myself out of it now

by saying, Stop it, Heather. It's never going to happen.

I'm grateful I've become more persuasive

but even now, I know, a small piece has not let go.