Sometimes I Still Think About Us Ending Up Together

I sometimes drive to that bar. Our bar.
I’ll never admit it, but I hope to see you.

I sometimes get in my car and drive.
Anywhere but here, I yell.
It’s just me and the open road.
Except, you and I both know where I’m headed.

I sometimes look up Airbnb prices where you live.
I look into car rentals.
I’m convinced that I’ll see you and everything will be the same.

I sometimes live in the past.
I imagine an ideal version of us.
A version that succeeds.
A version that’s filled with smiles.

A version that ends with you getting down on one knee.
And us moving into the suburbs.
A white picket fence life.
A version in which we get all we wanted and more.