She'd look like me, but she'd have your sleepy bright eyes.
He'd have your hair, that crooked smile, your pointy chin.
She'd find joy in the simple things.

Half of you and half of me.

And now to remove this miracle, to carve it out of myself.
The integrity of potential is lost in the real world and
I can't help myself anymore.

(I heard somewhere that in seven years, all the cells of all the parts of me that you have touched will be shed from me.)

How lovely, to think one day I'll finally be cleansed of you.

(You're the last person I imagined who would change me like this.)

I still like to think we found something in each other. I still like to think that you felt what I did. I still like to think you haven't forgotten me.