If you find a purple shot glass
That made its escape under my bed
In Fresher’s Week,
The trampoline of broken dreams
And over-eager Economics students,
If you find the scratch on the edge of the desk
Where the boy I thought was the One
Pushed the chair too hard
And left it scarred,
Don’t message me.
I don’t want to know if you find
That pair of pants I lost in April
The lacy ones with
They’re relics now and sit alongside
The debit card I lost
And the happy post-it note
From an optimistic friend I don’t speak to now.
Don’t message me if the tap spurts out
A brown, marmitey liquid,
Cuz that’s just how it’s always been,
So wait, and soon the water gleams
And you can fill your alcoholic blood with something a little less toxic.
Take care with the drawers, they’re stiff and slow,
Stuffed full of unsaid things, written down
In pink gel pen
At the end of the night
When she was there across the room
But didn’t come to speak to me –
Stuffed full of bobbles, hair grips, elastic bands,
Pens that wrote down notes and quotes and
Showed me that it’s okay to doodle in lectures
If you’re sitting at the back.
Don’t message me if the light is too dim
If the carpet is stained
If the door lock jingles
When the wind blows too hard.
I think I’d weep if you did.