I avoid Marble Arch like I do the armed police men,
And happily walk an extra two streets
Just to reach a place I don't recognise.
Like the bar we went to,
Now changed as a lot of things do,
Or the underground station
Where we unknowingly said goodbye the last time,
Kissed,
And saw each other,
Not via pictures, writings, or pixels
But through rods and cones,
For the last time for a what will probably be long time.

But I will walk through Paddington,
Past the hostel you stayed in, the pub you took me to,
I still get my bus at that frosty corner,
And wear my floral dress, my hoodie, my fishtail hair braid.
And more importantly
My bold blue dress
That you zipped up,
Drunkenly spilled beer on, my uncle bought you ten,
And I told you that I felt the same.

Now I'm not that shade of blue,
But colour me naive,
After all the times I asked you to not say what you don't mean
I did just that -
I don't think it was the same
Because it should have cut deeper than it did.

And after seeing how sorry I feel
For the new her and you
Because one or both of you have to realise something soon,
I feel I should be there for you.
But I won't hold your hand at the bank
Get your favourite band to sign your birthday card,
I won't take your beer off you when you can't stop,
Get on another plane,
Or stop writing poetry because I know you will see it.

I won't walk through Marble Arch for you.