Second Draft

The edges had gone soft

from the humidity under there—

two years, maybe three, of me

sleeping six inches above it.

I opened it on the floor.

Wide-ruled. Seven items, numbered.

Two crossed out in blue

and rewritten in black below,

as if I'd reconsidered the phrasing,

as if I was going to send this.

I'm still technically friends with this person.

We got drinks in March.

They paid.

The list is specific in the way

that means you've been sitting with something

long enough to develop a style.

The handwriting in the black ink

is more careful than the blue.

I stood there with it for a while.

Then I folded it back on the same crease.

I put it in the nightstand drawer

and went to bed

and didn't think about it.