Just because I told you it was okay to cry
didn't mean I wanted to make you.
Now I hear a song on the radio
that I've never heard before
but could swear it was once yours.
This is not an apology
nor a cry for help.
It will not end or begin with me on my knees.
It's me thinking aloud to myself on paper,
letting my thoughts stream out of me like an opened bottle.
Indeed, I don't think I love you anymore,
but somedays I wish I did.
I thought you might want to know
that some days, when I'm alone,  
I say your name aloud
and can taste its flavor on my tongue.