We didn't know each other,
then
we knew each other's names
and numbers.
We learned how we each took our coffee.
Me, two sugars and milk.
You, tea but you told me black coffee for the first two weeks because you thought your drinking black coffee was more impressive.
We learned each other.
Each other's needs and history. Early bird, late owl.
You hated all my favourite food.
I loved all the food you hated.
We disliked each other's mothers.
But you liked your mother
and I liked my mother.
We learned each other's bodies,
like they were our bodies.
We learned each other's secret looks from across a room.
The
'I want to leave! '
'Save me from this person'
'That was weird? ! '
'Stop talking! '
'I'm not feeling well.'
'This is boring.'
'Stop flirting'
'I'm going to **** you as soon as we get home'
and all the 'I love you.'
secret looks.
We knew each other.
And sometimes we fought with each other.
We knew each other's lines
and just how far to push them.
Until
We started crossing the lines.
I started cooking only my favourite food.
You stopped giving me secret looks.
We started fighting about your mother
and my mother.
And we stopped ****ing when we got home.
We went out for coffee I ordered you a tea.
You stopped drinking tea you said.
When?
I saw you out the other day.
I hardly recognized you.
It's been that many years.
And
I realized,
we don't know each other,
anymore.
Tara Schley
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem