I was looking for my name on a card of blue ink

I was looking for my name on a card of blue ink,

but I found us instead, near the edge of the sink.

We’re sitting in vinyl, the coffee is steam,

and I’m laughing so hard that I look like a dream.

The corner is sticky with tape that went dead,

holding on to a ghost and the things that we said.

My face is a stranger’s, wide-open and bright,

before I learned how to turn out the light.

I should throw it away or just leave it to rot,

to stay in the drawer in the place I forgot.

But I can’t quite unsee how the version of me

once looked that happy, and lived that free.