Oh, I like this.

'i tell myself this is forgetting'

That line is perfection. I can see dried tears on paper, eraser marks and smeared ink pen because I'm sure the pencil broke.

Still, this leaves me wanting more. Maybe it's supposed to.

i just got this flutter of feeling i can't explain.
i like it.

i like the story this tells.

"and they smile/but they're as empty as you."
very profound.

It might sound a little strange, but my favourite part of this piece is actually the opening line. You say "i sit on couches in secondhand stores" and it invokes this immediate sense of placelessness, and drifting, and, I don't know... /aftershock/, like the speaker's become a sort of ghost - seeing, but not connecting. Maybe it's just me, but it seems there's a whole complex of associations with the concept of 'secondhand' that makes this poem incredibly rich and nuanced for a short piece. Brava.

"I tell myself this is forgetting"

All of your work is so deep. This poem lets so many conclusions and presumptions come to mind.

You care about him, but you won't let yourself care about him. Denial sucks.