I am going to let him slip his hand up my dress and I am going to smile politely when he tells me I’m beautiful without ever looking me in the eye. I am going to let him walk me home because he says this part of town is dangerous at night. I am not going let him inside and he’s going to get mad and tell me I’m a bitch anyways. I am going to sit on my kitchen floor at 1:48 A.M. and watch movies on your Netflix account and wait for you to text me because you forgot the password again. I am going to etch poems into my skin with my fingernails and use my blood to chase the vodka I bought on my way home from work. I am going to take another Ambien and put on the sweatshirt you left and count the number of times the ceiling fan spins around until I finally pass out. I am going to wake up feeling empty and I am going to repeat this process every day until I realize you’re not going to call and I’m only hurting myself.