I saw you walking down the street yesterday. You look the same. I never saw your face but I knew it was you by the way you walked and changed the song you were listening to because it didn’t fit the mood.
You were gone when I drove by again.
I forgot you lived so close. I almost forgot about you completely. I don’t miss you but I miss those times. Before I had to wear a mask. (Two reasons, one was you.)
I almost got deja vu. The urge to call out your name, walk you home, see how you’ve been. (Same as always probably.)
The worst part is I know writing about you won’t hurt you, you’d probably be proud of me. Hell, you’d help me write your diss track.
I don’t want to diss you though. Wounds scab and heal. I’ve picked you off the list to make room for bigger wounds.
This would be awkward if it wasn’t you I’d saw. But that would raise questions as to why I thought of you, why my heart raced, why I looked for you on my way out. But I don’t have answers, that was your forte.
Is it wrong to want to miss you? To get a text and pretend you didn’t break up with the songs? (The songs hurt worse than me.)
But I can’t feel it in my heart, just my hope. I want you to re-correct my suicide note.
Write something nice at the end in purple pen. Use me as a pawn in your roleplaying game.
I am a character for you to tweak. Fix my faults, old dog. Make me better to play with.
You’ll never read this, you’ll never hear it either, nor would I think it matters to you. I lost your number in the gutter on a stormy night.
The suns back out again. Too bad.
I hope you think of me sometimes. So much I’m hexing you. I want you to think of me, need you to. I would never know. Maybe you think of me in my conscience. Maybe you write about me.
But don’t get famous off my love, it’s my turn to exploit you.
I hope you see me soon. Xoxo