"She's not you," he said
as if I didn't know
as if I wasn't aware at that moment
with every fiber of my being
as I sat shotgun in his Jeep
that she was everything I wasn't

"I thought I'd be able to forget you," he said
as if I'd forgotten him
as if I didn't remember every stolen glance
every accidental brush of our flesh
every moment I thought I'd imagined

"I'm so sorry. This isn't fair," he said
as if I thought it was
and I had to remind myself to breathe, breathe
to blink my eyes clear
as I watched raindrops hit the black windshield
trickle down the glass, washing it
clean

"I will always care about you," he said
and my will was not enough
to keep my heart from splitting
along the scars and stitches of its past.