I don't write anymore.
And it's funny -
how years later,
my nails, in thoughts of you,
compelled me to. 

It's funny, too, 
how I can't seem to remember you: 
your full name, 
your birthday 
your voice - 
and yet, 
I can still hear you. 

I went to a wedding. 
fifth of the year 
probably tenth of my lifetime 
but the first 
I was brave enough 
to put on nails for. 

I watched as the glue fixed 
the press-ons in place, 
the scent disgusted me. 
I willed my thoughts 
to fly anywhere 
but you. 

The nails looked pretty. 
Would you think they were, too? 

The wedding ended 
but you didn't. 

Google search: 
how to remove press-on nails? 
Hot water. 
Dishwashing soap. 
Oil. 
Fifteen minutes - 
repeat until it doesn't hurt. 

Too many steps 
for something 
that shouldn't hurt much. 

So, in mourning, 
I tore them off 
by force, 
without the hot water. 

It broke my nails. 
And it hurt. 

And this hurt: 
I miss you.