Psychosensory Hygiene (you were never too good with words anyway)

And you wrote:
"The falling out with her left me to grieve about as much as I did when I fell for her"
in this dream I unfolded, crumbled, flattened, refolded this letter you had written me.
Explaining yourself and how you felt.
This postcard from you was in my handwriting.
And I woke
thinking:
Fuck. I really wanted you, secretly, to love me.
What a silly thing, my subconscious.
And I walked
around my apartment for about 40 seconds
mourning the you I had invented
in this dream.
Terrible practice of mine.
I'm trying to remember if there's anything I had left at your place.
Hating the fact you've only been to mine twice and you're broadcasted everywhere.
Being in love with you is a heavy business and requires radical disinfecting.
My apartment is a calamity and I'm not even sure what to bleach first.
Sitting in front of my computer I'm trying to mentally peel you off of every artifact scattered around this tiny room (it's a start)
When I heard "knock knock knock"
Through the peep hole there stood a boy with my cell phone and two burned cd's.
I cracked open the door so he couldn't see
the
crash collision and catastrophe,
which was my living room.
And he spoke:
"Don't ever leave without saying goodbye. I woke up *turns head rapidly side to side* wondering where you had gone."
And I smiled
and was taken back by complete surprise
that it was even possible while I'm grieving for you.
I shut the door, after he kissed his fingertips and pressed them on my deploring lips
and thought I'm going to rearrange this residence
maybe with the displacement of my furniture I can displace the fact that
you were never too good with words anyway.