strange time in my life

If I hadn’t passed you that note I never would have known. I’d be sitting here wondering what could have been. I would have been rupi kaur who was capri sun when you wanted freshly squeezed orange juice. I would have had a worm in my throat until the end of all my days if I didn’t know. I only now have a maggot. I was rupi kaur who was the maggot in your throat when you could only feel a worm. I wrote the note so I could smell what you smelt like and feel how your clothes felt in my hands. But I don’t need the note to know the colour of your hair, the colour of your eyes or to see how you move your body. I was rupi kaur watching you move your body when you wanted someone to feel it as well. Why couldn’t it have been me? I’ll drink milk and honey and praise the sun and her flowers but you’ll always be the burning red end of a cigarette to me. The last one I’ll smoke until I light another, and another, and another.