Anniversary

It's been 93 days since you broke up and apparently you're still not over it because you're still counting.
You still hurt.
You buy new clothes as though he'll see you in them tonight and compliment you the way he used to, telling you how beautiful you are before you undress each other.
You wear pajamas that are really lingerie and tell yourself that you don't wear it for him, but for someone else like him who will eventually enter your life.
You tell yourself someone else like him will eventually enter your life.
You delete notes on your phone. In an alternate life you would have kept them for sentimental reasons.
You wonder if he got the postcard you sent him and if that made it harder.
You wonder what he did with the drawer of your things at his place. You told him to throw out everything in it, but you don't know if he actually did.
You remember his chest pressing into your back, and the steadiness of his breathing at odds with the arrhythmic beat of your heart.
You listen to Taylor Swift breakup songs and convince yourself that you feel better knowing other people have felt this way too.
You don't delete his address from your phone.
You spend a night in bed with one of your high school friends. You curl yourself up against his body, you tangle your legs with his, you touch his face and let him touch yours. You know it doesn't mean anything, you know there's no commitment, you don't care. You don't want to commit either.
You tell yourself you don't wish it had lasted longer. You tell yourself that it's for the best. You tell yourself that you're okay. You lie to yourself every day so you can get out of bed.
You're afraid that you will try to heal your bruised heart by pounding it against a closed door or pressing it into the skin of a stranger.
You're afraid because this is as far ahead as you had planned and now you have no excuse to keep holding on.
You say you want this anniversary to be the last one that crosses your mind.
You think that it can't be an anniversary if it didn't even last a year.