broken bikes

of in-betweens

i told the world our story,

complete with

the ups and downs

and even the in-betweens;

the in-betweens

that became my favorite part

of us

the times

we just sat around the living room

with a shitty sitcom on the television

and a cup of shitty wine in each hand;

you would pretend to laugh at the jokes

and i would pretend to understand them,

because that was how we were

the times

you stood in the kitchen

and didn't cook anything,

but didn't eat anything either;

you just stood there,

staring at the food in the fridge,

and i stared at you

the times 

i read the same novel

for the hundredth time over,

and you didn't question it,

because you knew

that there was no greater comfort

than that of familiarity

the times

we kissed on the front porch,

not because it was romantic,

but because the stars were out

and we liked to pretend

that they were watching us;

we were a movie for the sky to see

the times

you didn't hold me when we slept;

it would become too hot

but there was never a morning

that i didn't wake

with our fingers intertwined,

your version of a compromise

i told the world our story,

complete with the ups and downs

and even the in-betweens,

especially

those in-betweens,

because they were the smallest forms

of the biggest things