I’ve washed and even scrubbed that shirt

Maybe I didn’t scrub hard enough on purpose

Those pictures are just dust collectors

But still, in the frames, they sit

I stare out my window in hopes (End dash)

You’re staring out yours

Talking to that lonely moon

Hoping it will relay my messages

But maybe they are getting lost in the translation

Because now your eyes stare into another

All that’s left of us is that picture taped on my fridge