if i chose you
that night in Alex's apartment,
i would've brought you flowers
instead of cigarettes.
i would've taken your hand
instead of texting her back.
i would've learned to love bitter drinks.
vodka, black coffee, the songs you wrote
about heartbreaks that weren't me.
you would've taught our daughter to play piano.
i'd be in the kitchen,
burning the eggs,
cursing under my breath,
while you laugh like heaven's alive.
you would've sang 90's songs
to me when i couldn't sleep,
and i'd write dumb lyrics you'd never read
because i still couldn't admit
how much you meant.
we'd fight.
loud.
real.
but we'd never sleep apart.
never leave things hanging.
i'd take you to that ramen place.
finally.
order too much.
watch you eat like you always do,
like the world's ending,
like love never left.
i'd watch you grow into the woman
you always dreamed of being.
not someone's second guess.
not someone's maybe.
mine.
you'd wear grey
on our wedding day.
and i'd cry.
and all those years i wasted—
they'd vanish.
just like your ex's shoes,
just like her number in my phone.
if i chose you,
i wouldn't be writing this.
i'd be beside you.