I hope you
remember
that
somewhere
along
the
lines,

I  
was
there.

I used to believe
that I would
never
be able to
move on...

But whenever I woke up
this morning,

I didn't even
think about
**you.

A never-ending routine; spending our free time masking discontent by cultivating dreams.

You try to tell me what I am,
using "friend" over and over

But I know what  I am

I am the rugburn on your forearm that you cover with your sleeve
       the sweat on the back of your neck
        and the tightness of your jeans
I am the look back from that night as you drove away
       the text message you sent, asking to "hang out" again the next day
I am the tightness in your chest at night
         the forbidden fantasy during the day
         the secret from your parents
         the story to your friends
But I am not something to be controlled or domineered
So that's why now
**I am the one who walked away.