More
      Difficult
     
    
   
   
    
     
      It’s
      getting
      more
      and
      more
      difficult
      to
     
    

    
     
      eat
      a
      salad
      with
      catalina
      dressing
      and
     
     
      mushrooms
      without
      sickening
      at
      the
      memory
     
     
      of
      your
      failing
      to
      hold
      a
      conversation
     
    

    
     
      for
      more
      than
      thirty
      seconds
      and
      your
      failing
     
     
      to
      have
      an
      opinion
      and
      your
      failing
     
    

    
     
      to
      respect
      mine
      without
      ever
      giving
     
    

    
     
      a
      reason
      why
      not.
     
    
   
   
    
     
      It’s
      getting
      more
      and
      more
      difficult
      to
     
    

    
     
      listen
      to
      the
      radio
      because
      they
      won’t
      stop
     
     
      playing
      those
      songs
      that
      you
      liked
      and
     
    

    
     
      I
      didn’t
      like
      so
      much
      but
      pretended
      to
     
    

    
     
      just
      so
      we
      could
      have
      something
      in
      common
     
    

    
     
      and
      maybe
      consequently
      a
      basis
      for
      a
      relationship
     
     
      that
      went
      beyond
      a
      salad
      with
      catalina
     
    

    
     
      dressing
      and
      mushrooms.
      —
     
    
   
   
    
     
      It’s
      getting
      more
      and
      more
      difficult
      to
     
     
      remember
      the
      times
      when
      I
      found
      you
     
    

    
     
      half
      interesting
      and
      to
      remember
      the
      reason
     
     
      I
      was
      so
      submissive
      in
      the
      first
      place
      and
     
    

    
     
      to
      think
      of
      even
      one
      thing
      other
      than
     
    

    
     
      the
      way
      you
      held
      your
      fork
      and
      the
      way
      you
     
     
      made
      me
      hold
      my
      breath
      that
      I
      ever
     
    

    
     
      liked
      about
      you,
     
    
   
   
    
     
      —A,.
      Arsenault
     
    
   
   
    
     
       
     
    
   
   
    
     
      BI