Maybe I went a hair too far And maybe should have cared a little more Maybe I said some things I shouldn't, But you said you loved me for my candor I was never one to apologize And I hate that about myself But even so I’ll never call you back Or collect my things from your shelf. Just know I’ll not forget The time we spent together apart Talking about poetry silently And bashing modern art. Did you see the signs? That I valued time most when I spent it alone? That I love that Keats quote, “The poet has no identity of his own.”? For even this is a manufactured feeling I tell a lot of lies I never had a loved one And I live a lot of lives.