A Boring Kind of Heartbreak

It’s 4:00 AM and I’m still standing in Aisle Five.

We were arguing about the lemon-scented soap,

whether the generic brand was enough to keep us alive

or if we needed the one that promised more hope.

You looked so solid, just checking the price,

and the linoleum was cold through my thin socks.

It wasn't a monster or a cliff or a roll of the dice,

just the way you tucked a loose hair back into your locks.

I woke up and my hand was reaching for the bottle,

feeling the beaded moisture, that fake citrus chill.

It’s pathetic how a dream can go full-throttle

over a grocery list and a life standing still.