The shirt no longer smells like you;
I left it crumpled on the bed.
I wanna shoot whoever did up this room
(if they’re not already dead),
Because I’m so sick of harvest gold
and crying down the telephone,
But you’re here,
and I’m there,
and it’s 67 days ‘til home.
It’s Sunday night
and you’re begging “Never again, never again,”
and all I can say is “I’m sorry.”
Te echo de menos, but you wouldn’t understand.
Just say, “I miss you, too.”
“We’re halfway through,” this email reads,
but I feel I’m wearing thin.
I’m falling asleep to songs about hips and hearts,
and dreaming of your smooth skin.
And I’m so sick of going out alone
and wasting money on my mobile phone
Because you’re here
and I’m there
and it’s 38 days ‘til home.
And it’s Sunday night
and you’re begging “Never again, never again, no,”
and all I can say is “I’m sorry.”
Te echo de menos, but you wouldn’t understand.
Just say, “I miss you, too.”

I couldn’t find my printed copy of this poem, but it was published in Confiscated, my college literary magazine, in 2007. I wrote it in fall 2006 when I spent a semester abroad in Spain, mainly in Salamanca. It was a wonderful experience, but I missed my boyfriend (now husband) a lot. I was feeling quite lonely in a hotel room in Santander (with ugly decor in harvest gold…) and started writing this about it.
It’s actually a song, as most of my poems are. I was listening to Fall Out Boy’s album From Under the Cork Tree on repeat at the time (“songs about hips and hearts”), and not only did it get me through that semester emotionally, it inspired me to start writing songs again. When I submitted this to my lit mag, even though I removed my real name, one of the other editors immediately knew it was mine and picked up the FOB reference.
Te echo de menos obviously means I miss you in Spanish. My husband does not speak any Spanish haha.