One day you will see him walking down the road
a hand in the pocket of his jeans, a Rolex on the other
humming to himself strange tunes of yesteryear
and as his phone would beep, he would fish it out to see...

You will see him walking down the road
and you will want to go. You know he will stop in his tracks
and his eyes would sparkle with surprise (pleasant or not, you won't know.)
And you will put on a brave show
standing opposite to him, smiling, you will ask: hey, how have you been?
and you will notice how a small, sweet smile will spread across his face,
as if to say: oh, I recognize you.
And just that. I recognize you. And not I love you
Not I have loved you, not I remember how you loved me, too.

Which is why you won't go.

Because him recognizing you won't be enough, ever
without him recognizing what you went through after you said it
without him recognizing how you couldn't live after you said it
without him recognizing why you couldn't do anything but that,
*for him.