when he tells me that he loves me, i can’t remember where i put my jacket
why can’t i think of all the god things everyone says,
i meant good things. like an answer to everyone's question.
maybe that is a good god thing. he says all the amazing
things. i wonder why i can’t think of any. last night he
quoted a philosopher but i can’t remember which one.
how do they come up with stuff. maybe he didn’t want me
to remember. i was the one who was supposed to say all
the right stuff at the right time. like it will rain. it didn’t.
so most of the time i am sitting with an open umbrella,
trying to catch my breath with its wings. unfapped. i realise
that is not a word. last night, when we were in bed,
he shook his head. and then said something nice. or it was
supposed to be nice, i guess. what did he say? ummm.
ummmm. something about being. being in love, i suppose.
i can’t remember the exact words but i remember a ring.
his hands fidgeting in anticipation. i couldn’t remember where
i kept my keys. and then he waited for me to reply. so we just
sat there in silence until it rained. i didn’t know what was the
right thing to say. except for, i should’ve brought my umbrella.
Tanya Singh is the Founder & Editor-in-Chief of The Cerurove. Their work is forthcoming in Literary Orphans, Black Napkin Press, The Slag Review, among others. They live in India.
See another of Tanya's poems in 5.3