We died.

Which is wild

because death is way too organized

for something that dramatic.

Clipboards.

Carbon copies.

A final “sign here please”

on the dotted line of our chests.

---

Turns out

“‘til death do us part”

wasn’t a metaphor –

it was a legally binding break-up clause.

---

Nobody warned me that love came

with terms and conditions.

Nobody told me that forever

had an asterisk the size of a heartbeat.

---

So now we’re single.

Technically.

---

Same café.

Same chipped mug.

Because habits are harder to kill than people,

and my heart still orders caffeine

like it never got the obituary.

---

You hover by the almond milk

like a multiple-choice question

we both answered wrong,

while we were alive.

---

You say, “hey!”

that thin, careful syllable

people use

when they’re not sure

they’re allowed to miss you yet.

---

Half-ghost.

Half-regret.

All the years we never unpacked.

---

You ask if I want to get coffee sometime…

like we didn’t already share toothbrushes,

like eternity didn’t just hit

the reset button

and hand us amnesia with good lighting.

---

I laugh… and

spill my whole damn soul on the counter.

Then say something stupid.

Because love has always turned me

into a human typo.

---

I say,

“Only if you’re buying”.

---

And just like that,

we’re dating again.

---

Not because we’re lonely.

Not because we’re scared of the silence.

---

But because even death

looked at us and said,

“Yeah… I don’t know where to file this”.

---

Some loves just don’t end.

They only lose their bodies;

learn how to haunt politely,

and keep showing up

Because the universe

forgot to evict them.

---

(c)BobChristian