It’s just me forgetting to hit send and not really caring that I did.
It’s me returning the same apathy you hit me with a year ago.
And now all of a sudden you can’t stand it.
You must miss the attention.
It’s me laying alone at night and not swishing your name through my head.
In fact, I just get to sleep.
If I want to, I can see the yellow and pink haze on the shore line.
But I can paint you out of the scene if I so desire,
And I do.
A beautiful memory still, even without you in it.
This is called getting over it.