This is a poem for no one in particular:
I hope you're doing much better now.
I know how hurt you were.

I could be anywhere,
and I would not expect you to care
because people change;
like the passing of the season.
Feelings fade.
and this is not without reason.

I cannot put into words
what you meant to me.
Why are the things we miss the most,
the things that weren't meant to be?

I am lost.
Without direction.
Although I got my ticket
I missed my connection,
and although I go on,
I cannot look forward:
only at my own reflection.

Looking back at me,
I do not recognise myself.
I don't want to,
I wish I were someone else.
The person you wished I were.
The person you thought you saw.
Somebody with something more.

Did I deserve this?
It's not for me to say.
Did I intend for this?
Did I want this?
Not in any way.

And so I continue
to continue
to trick myself into forgetting,
stop regretting,
and not letting
the thought to exist.

Except in tiny slices of memory,
that still linger and persist.
You were the best thing that ever happened to me
And yet you were the worst.
You were the last person I ever knew,
not only the first.

Yet if I could erase my recollection of you,
I surely would.
I would do it in a heartbeat,
If I only could.
But I can't.

I can't stop thinking what I've lost.
And how I am only to blame.
Like the naked bitten by frost.