I haven’t thought about you in a long time. That’s sad.
You’re a perfect poem I didn’t write but is still mine.
I lied about you today.
I pretended you weren’t mine but some stranger’s.
What’s stranger still is the flow of the lie, thick and uncomfortable.
I lied the way I lost you.
I felt swollen and empty.
It made me want to cry
even though I never wanted you anyway.