Now that I'm over you,
pickup trucks don't bother me anymore.
Red ones, green ones, old ones, and even older ones.
I don't think about summer nights in their beds,
nor first kisses in their cabs.
Now that I'm over you,
I can walk around our town with no problem.
I can go antiquing with no issue,
and I can walk the pawn shops without crying.
I don't want to hold your hand,
and I certainly don't want you sneaking kisses at the farmer's market.
Now that I'm over you,
your sister and I can be friends.
I don't see your face in hers at all.
I don't hear your voice in her words, either.
I'm always surprised when she mentions you,
because you've not been on my mind at all.
Now that I'm over you,
I can fall in love again.
I can smile back at a stranger and catch their eye.
I know that I'll be fine.
I know that I don't want you anymore.
I never (write it!) miss you, either.
Thank God that I'm am over you.