I sit in a coffee shop
Next to artwork and apple products
People whisper over plastic lattes
An empty chair.
In the overflowing coffee shop
The guy next to me flexes his tattooed arms
And uses “selfie” and “ex-girlfriend” in the same sentence
I cringe with hypocritical disgust.
I wish my fingers didn’t crawl back to the addictive screen.
I wish the click of the home button wasn’t habitual.
I wish the trifecta of social media apps had no meaning to me.
I wish I had more self-control,
Something more like you.
If I could count up all the minutes spent staring at my phone while with you,
I’d slap myself.
Swiping digits back and forth across a glass screen,
Instead of letting them learn every crevice and bump of your skin.
Memories inevitably start to fade.
I want my fingers to remember the shape of your cheekbones
The softness of your lips
The little brown bump that I secretly love.
I think my fingers are forgetting.
And yet they’ll never forget where the fucking home button is.