Survive

And I will meet someone new
and go on a real date,
somewhere in a sunny garden,
and I will take forever to order a soda cause they just offer you the bubbly ones that I can't stand
and never have what I like,
or maybe I'll go crazy and have ice cream.

We'll sit face to face and talk about things that matter,
like his first dog or his sister,
and I will remember you driving silently,
always asking questions, never answering them,
but I will push you out of my head and smile,
and he will never know that is a fake one because he will never know me like you did.

I'll light a cigarette,
blow the smoke up
cause that's how a girl shows confidence even if she's breaking inside,
and my mind will go back to that window framing you smoking and to how nervous I was and didn't know what to say and you talked about the train and asked questions, your never-ending questions, which you never answer,
and then remember that you quit.

And then we'll take a walk through the park
or maybe on the beach,
and maybe we'll hold hands
—you're never too old to hold hands—
I've always loved old couples holding hands on the street; it has always made me smile
—but I will never grow old—
and a wave of jealousy will surge through me again
at the thought of that girl you wrote about, the one you walked with in March, and you've never walked with me; you've never held my hand.

I will pretend to be happy with him,
and maybe, in time, I will start believing it,
which is not so sad if you think about it,
and although I can never forget or unlove you,
I will dim you out of my mind
so that I can survive you.