i hear your cries
your desire of forgetting our past
or at least moving on
but we had gotten so used to eachother's presence
then easy absence
to start missing it would be crazy
but real
and true
so true
like love
was it love
you called it love
i thought it love
pouring out of us
both our writings
telling each other
unaddressed but publicized
i do think of you
sometimes running away
at the first sign of reminiscence
other times
falling into the arms of memories
but always
always
helplessly ambushed
by glimpses of you
laying about
seeing me