To my sister:
You think of me when you hear a song that I might like and might want to listen to in repeat, on and on until it makes you so sick it’s not your favorite song anymore. You think of me when you find a photo of me or when you are alone or lonely on the subway and a girl with uneven bangs and dark skin, with overdone blush, sits beside you and you pretend that it’s me. You think of me when you wake up feeling sixteen again, wanting me to make you a sandwich and then pick you up from high school one hour early, so that I make strong eye contact with your guy friends, clumsily trying to flirt with all of them at the same time. You think of me when your boyfriend says do you remember how your sister was so crazy? And you say Not at all instead of Yes because you secretly had fun when I grabbed you from the legs and dragged you outside of my room. Because this gave you an excuse to open the window and shout I hate her! from the thirteenth floor, while I threw light objects at you in the hallway while the cats hid in corners. You think of me when you are alone taking the bus in Buenos Aires and a girl with sandals and curly hair sits beside you and you pretend it is me and that you are sixteen again.
To my ex-boyfriend
You think of me when you put my books in a box that you will return to me eventually. You think of me when you park in the opposite lot and enter the philosophy department from the opposite door to avoid running into me. That’s pretty much all that you needed to change in order to forget me. You save on gas and movie theater tickets and you get to spend more time alone, reading theology and getting closer to God. You say to yourself look how better I am, when you are wondering if my absence really makes a difference.
To Tom Waits
It’s too late to get you to make love to me. You are five steps away from death and I am twenty five living in a 3 bedroom house with leaks somewhere in the bible-belt of the South.