48 hours, roughly.

This is for the last minute lovers.

The let-me-dry-your-tears-even-though-I-wasn't-there-for-the-important-ones.

The failed excuses and the comment she made about how flaky my friends are.

It's for those of you who don't get acknowledged until 10pm.

It's for the city that didn't want you and the people that are starting to feel the same way.

Nostalgia isn't worth the bitter taste in my mouth,

because nobody has asked me how I'm feeling

but the one person who swiped my tears off the dashboard

and killed the lonely.

So I chose him tonight.

And you all clustered the halls with me through high school,

but you've chosen where to put your efforts
and I'm under your tables.

It's too late to think about it. 

The apologies won't make the deadline,

the bitterness will only be swallowed by cleaning supplies

and move-in materials

and I hope she feels alright in the morning when she wakes up alone.

I hope you feel alright in the morning 

when I'm not there.

And I hope you don't have to send your children off 

with a failed goodbye by people that just didn't have plans that night.

I'll be telling my children about you.

I'll be begging them to find you in your corners,
run across freshly paved parking lots with you and her
and making drives up the most familiar neighborhood for 3 years;
I'll tell them about the camping crews and sleepless drives we made,
how it was beautiful
like lightning

but it was all for a 10pm attempt to farewell
that barely scratched a phone call
from a best friend.

And I may be nothing but high school photographs to you
but after the money dropped and the best friends fled the coop,
it was a sunset on a lake
and my saltwater eyes
that decided the bailouts weren't worth my last hours.

So I chose him tonight
because he chose me
before you did.