I hope one day
a heavy book with my name on it
rests on your coffee table
next to all the framed memories
I was never even close to being a
part of.

I hope its pages are full of
frayed sticky notes and
the lines that vaguely
reminded you of us
are circled in red pen

I hope you read it every Sunday morning
just like you promised you would
when you whispered in my ear
that orange afternoon
as we laid in the grass.

And if you don’t, I hope it collects dust
the way I wish I had:
sitting comfortably by your side
as you sip tea in the morning.