seven weeks
six days

it’s not my fault that i’ve
been keeping track of this
minute existence of yours

how i am supposed to feel,
to know such a loss;
                         i do not know

ive been told,
i will regret this,
to consider my actions

perhaps after
     i will feel loss

perhaps after
     it will make a difference

i cannot feel you,
only what you make me feel
     inside
        outside

maybe i will feel sorry
for giving you up like this
but somehow i feel like
                      i wont feel
         anything besides
  sweet emptiness