It's not your dreamy scenery
or the kiss she stained you with.
It's not the words she addressed to me
or the sketch accompanying it.

It's the genuine sentiment you symbolize,
that I both hate and love.
It's the arguments and the picnics
that you remind me of.

It's not your fault
You represent her petty little game.
That I still hold her in my heart,
It's not you I blame.

I've tried to rip you, burn you, trash you,
Yet there you sit on my windowsill
Teasing the memories that despite the time,
are vivid in my mind, still.

It's behind her.
It's behind me.
It's over.
It's done.

You're all I have left.
Please don't weather or tear.
Now that she's gone
and I am still here.