It's been Seven Months.

I just

constantly have this feeling to talk to someone.

I'll never know him again, but

It's fine because life always makes a compensation for me. 

Maybe it isn't fine.

Life shouldn't have compensations, especially not for lost loves.

Especially for this one-sided piece of bullshit I can't get out of. 


He never writes to me.

He never tries to communicate.

It's depressing that I'm the one who has to say it all.


I think sometimes he's there, halfway across the world, still half-loving me. 

Maybe he's found someone else by now. 

That would probably piss me off for some reason.


I guess I should watch my words when I say, "you can forget me." 

In all reality,  I wanted him to keep me in his frontal lobe at all times. 

I wanted him to miss me

And love me

And feel like maybe there was a chance that we could meet again.

Maybe there isn't.




It would be nice, just one more time.

This poem is about: 
My family


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