Longing, by E.N.G

Maybe there's something wrong with me.

This thought passes through me constantly. in public, in private, on the train, in my kitchen, in the shower in, the grocery store check out line.

When I hear your name, when I see your posts, when I see your friends, when I see you.

There's something about you and I can't stand it, I can't escape you.

Maybe there's something wrong with me.

My eyes find you before I'm even aware there's anyone walking through the door. You're with your friend, the loud one with the short hair. You don't see me.

Maybe there's something wrong with me/

I look down at my book but I recite your coffee order in time with you. Maybe there's something wrong with me. You take the table just out of view, two tables to my right and slightly behind me. I swear I can smell your cologne from here and my brows furrow because I know that's impossible. Maybe there's something wrong with me.

Maybe there's something wrong with me.

You weren't even there this time, but I fumbled my way through my usual retail worker script so hard my coworker pulled me aside after the ordeal was over. he didn't even look like you, but my hands shook and my breath wavered as I wrung up his items. a sweater you would have loved, and a CD of your favourite band. maybe there's something wrong with me because I still remember where you keep your CDs and the record collection I helped you build. You already own the album he was buying, a gift for my brother's friend while he was cleaning out his closet. The case had a crack in the across the cover, but you were so excited it could have been handed to you by the singer themself. Maybe there's something wrong with me.

Maybe there's something wrong with me.

I heard your friend’s song on the street and had to go home.

Maybe there's something wrong with me.

A girl was wearing your cologne on the train and I nearly dropped my chicken bake.

Maybe there's something wrong with me.

I accidentally ordered your go-to for lunch instead of mine. It doesn't taste the same when you're not there to share it with.

Maybe there's something wrong with me.

I ran into your mother at the bookstore. She didn't recognize me but still made conversation. She was there to pick up a feminist title, one I hadn't heard of but it put on my list after we talked. I was roaming, hovering between the poets and the fiction section. I had

something Rilke under my arm and a pensive look on my face as I debated the other book in my hand, something between horror and romantic tragedy. I just got into the line when she spotted it, talking about anything and nothing until she got to the counter. Maybe there's something wrong with me, because my heart caught in my throat every time she made a joke, realizing just how much of your humour is hers.

Maybe there's something wrong with me.

Maybe there's something wrong with me, because every time I get you off my mind you come crashing back into me. It's so subtle but it claws its way behind my ribs and refuses to leave. The sun hits the water a certain way, I hear someone hum a certain tune, I have to avoid certain stores in the mall.

Maybe there's something wrong with me.

Maybe there's something wrong with me, because I'm so consumed by you it's hard to breathe most days. Maybe there's something wrong with me. They say that if someone comes back to you it was meant to be, but I had never had you in the first place, and neither of us had even technically left.

Maybe there's something wrong with me, to be so hung up on someone I'd never even dated, and had barely seen face-to-face. I've known you for years, learned everything I possibly could about you and your mind, yet I've only hugged you once, been within your space so few times I can count them on one hand. Maybe there's something wrong with me maybe there's something wrong with me because my eyes feel heavy and my stomach queasy violently aware of the box just in front of my shin below the counter

Maybe there's something wrong with me to have a birthday gift for you in the first place, but maybe even worse for me to feel so sick, as well as knowing I won't have the courage to give

it to you

Maybe there's something wrong with me, because my stomach was turning before you even on this side of the street.

Maybe there's something wrong with me, because for how aware of you I am I didn't

even notice you coming to the shop.

My face was red, pressed into my arm on the desk. I was breathless, full-body laughing

for the first time in months. My coworker, a shorter girl with deep black hair, a thick septum

piercing, and even thicker eyeliner had made some stupid joke–barely funny, but just wild

enough to catch me off guard

Maybe there's something wrong with me, because the shy smile on your face when I saw

you made me light-headed all over again.

Maybe there's something wrong with me because I smile back despite myself.

Maybe there's something wrong with me, because I swear you're just as breathless as I

am.

“Hey.”

Maybe there's something wrong with me. You only say one word but I feel like a

schoolgirl with a crush as it sends my heart pounding

Maybe there's something wrong with me, but I can't help but let my smile turn almost

impish, teasing, as I say it back.

“Hey, yourself.”

Maybe there's something wrong with me, but I can't help but think it was destiny for

you to come in when you did.

"...the story of someone deeply troubled by young love, distance (physical and metaphorical), and reuniting. Or, a meet-cute I thought of to make myself feel better after making the same characters go through hell."