It's been six months, eight,
Eight happy months that they've been together.
Fifteen months for another couple;
Four years for a stray pair to part,
even temporarily.
I look at myself, and suggest a new haircut,
and imagine how I'll look, what I'll be wearing with someone new
and what I'll do differently next time.
But I know I'll only be as outgoing as I am in my own home,
gazing into my halls and walled mirrors.
Happy eight months,
he loves her.
Happy anniversary, for me,
alone.
