it's been a year and i still cook for two / i portion it out and freeze the half that isn't yours and i have never once thrown any of it away / there is a shelf in my freezer that is just meals for a man who lives in another city now / i've moved / new locks / new bed / a woman who swims at six and posts about it / and still my body turns at the sound of a door and still there is a half-second before i remember / that half-second is the last place we live together / someone told me you're doing well and they said it gently / the way you tell a person about a death / and i said good / i'm glad / and i meant it and it took the air out of me anyway / here's the sad part / i'm not waiting / i don't want you back / i've stopped rehearsing what i'd say if you called and that frightened me more than the rehearsing ever did / what i want isn't you / what i want is the tuesday in february when you asked me if i was still in this and i said i'm tired / just that / i'm tired / and you nodded like you'd been given an answer / i want to be standing in that kitchen again / i want to say yes / i was tired and i was still in it and i didn't know how to hold both at once / i want one more go at that one sentence / not the year / not you / not us / just the sentence / please / just let me say it properly and then i'll go