More often
Than I’d like to admit.
Not that you’re the
Sole owner
Of my thoughts,
But you enter them
Every day,
And that feels like
A form of torture.
I don’t think you
Feel the same way
Or even
care
To hear such things,
But it is true.
I’ve been meaning
to write down words
To say to you
The next time we speak,
But I’ve gone a good bit of time
Without crying,
And I’d like to enjoy that
A little longer.
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