if we had never met

you sit across from me, unremarkable
afternoon in a burger joint

between paused breaths
i start wishing

you complain about onions on your burger

that we had never met.

“want onions?”

i would trade
my most cherished memories,
hope for a shared future,
old age

you put the onions,
one by one, on my plate
before i could answer

so my hands wouldn’t be holding your
heart, dreading
the day i finally
drop it.