I’ve broken up with your parking space,
with your 24/7 convenience store,
with your next-door neighbors.
With the bulb in the hallway
no one ever thought to replace,
so I always tripped over your
With the uneven space between
the first few stairs of your staircase.
With your rusty mailbox.
With your tacky window panels.
(Floral? Are you for real, I asked.)
I’ve blocked you on every anti-social network,
and yes, I even tried to take back all of those
endorsements on LinkedIn – how I ever thought
you were good at „team work“
is still beyond me.
My key has said its goodbyes to the
lock of your studio apartment,
my hand bid farewell to its doorknob.
Someone else will have to water the flowers
I bought for you.
How does one say goodbye, nowadays?
In this confusing modern spiderweb of connections,
I am anxious I’ll miss a link or an account
that used to bind us together,
then come across a happy photo
of you and your new belle de jour
a couple of months from now.
Disentangling our lives is not as simple as it first appears.
I’ve made a list of all these material and digital things,
but it feels as if I’m missing the point.
I’ve forgotten to mention my decision to you?
That’s the easiest thing to do.
Must be something else.
Waking up in your bed again, I realize
I haven’t sent this memo to myself.