And So I Wrote More

It's been months and my memories became blurry, so I kinda forgot the way you tear your almond croissant half and leave the rest upon the table.
I'm very proud of myself for driving past your workplace and not crying when the Starbucks girl called my name.
Maybe this is what they call acceptance,
to sip tea over strong coffee despite missing the rush of caffeine that once brought me into emergency.

Truth is I don't know anything about acceptance.
There are days I had dirty plates building tower in my sink and days I bake banana bread from scratch.
There are days my groceries list checked out perfectly and days the bear on my bed plays dead until I kick him away like you did.
I'm far from finished but I'm pretty sure I wrote twenty pages of how bad you are for my health,
but most times it's just cigarettes who hate you and not my heart.