It’s after midnight again, 
and I’m playing out yet another
imaginary conversation with you
that’ll never happen.
This time we are choosing to laugh
about the day we met by the water,
when you wore the mirrored
sunglasses and I joked about the CIA.
This time, we made plans to see each other
the next weekend and then the one after,
you catching me up on your little sister’s
dreams of building a life in SoCal,
me filling you in on my best friend’s new album.

It’s after midnight again for the third time this week,
and I’m keeping the memory of us alive,
playing out these seemingly ordinary exchanges 
until sleep manages to creep into my mind
for a few hours, when I wake with a start, 
clutching the blankets close to my face,
overcome with what might have been.