I'll sit here in silence, protesting any urge to speak,
because I know how easy it is for me to say things I end up regretting.
I'll stare into the open space with a neutral face and try to hide the admiration my heart carries for you.
I would like to have you, but no—I won't repeat myself.
I understand you heard me the first time I confessed.
This might be the last time we share the same space, and I'm scared—
but I know it's not the worst thing that can ever happen.
I'm going to be away for a while, far away—it really breaks my heart that you treat me as though I am already gone.
Go on, duck all my efforts at making eye contact;
I don't know if it helps you forget quicker.
I know it would be a lie, but still, it would be nice to hear you say that I'll be missed.
I am not sorry for coming here, and yes, I know how made-up your mind is to let me go, and it's okay.
I just wanted to hear it coming from your lips, not his.
Maybe that way, it would be easier to believe.
I wouldn't change anything about the events that led us here;
it was beautiful while it lasted.
I want to remember us this way.
I hope you do too—I assume that's why you let me in when I knocked on your door.