I'm calling the lawyers.

Dear You,
whoever you are. I used to have a definite article to which I could address such matters.
I used to recall saying "you" whispering it sometimes, other times it would appear scrawled inside little journals, or caught in my throat, trying to get out as I tried to breathe into your ear everything that I thought I wanted. now I am surround by "I's" and "Me's". I have become my own lover,and thus, have begun to try and court myself. I am the last fish in the sea, and that sea must be the water I leave behind in other people's bathtubs. I look for your face in windows, and on trains, and through hazy eyes over coffee tables at parties. I cling my eyes like tiny claws to any face that I can imagine waking up next to, and not feeling sick. I once had a "you." and I would tire myself out with that word. I love you Imiss you I need you can you pass me the bread? what are you doing later? where did you go ?why did you leave ?why didn't you ask me to stay? why wouldn't you hold my hand in the restaurant? why did you refer to me as your friend?
now all I say is I want. I'm writing love letters to myself, I'm dreaming up great love affairs with the idea of those coffee table faces. I'm living in the fiction where I get the guy, where everything falls into place. because you aren't here, because you don't exist. I'm writing home to a place I've never been too. I've been stood up on a date that hasn't been arranged yet. I'm writing poems for all the lovers that will never know how I prefer to take my tea. I'm carving names into trees, trees that will never come into season, and names that I will never nervously say, floating over the tops of sweaty palms, that I won't dare shake. I have made a private world, in which I am trapped in an arranged marriage with myself. Tomorrow, I tell myself, I'll call the lawyers, and pack my shit, and tell the children that I love them, but me and myself just couldn't make it work, I'll tell myself that I want a divorce, and my new lover will pick me up at the airport and I'll light up a cigarette and be someone else. I tell myself this, but in reality I will probably just close my eyes and wonder what your mouth tastes like.