I think I'm cooked,
I feel the ache I longed for.
I'm restless, but I think
I got what I wanted.

I keep checking
and I keep thinking
about you and how you
might be thinking about me.

I don't think there's a future.
I don't think this will be
anything but the ache.
But I guess I never wanted more.

If you return,
do not knock,
the door has memorized your hands.

If you leave,
do not turn back,
the wind carries only forward.