Visions of the thens,
Contemplation of the whys.
What a strange notion it is
That you've become past tense.
I flirted with the idea of forgiveness,
Fiddled with it between my fingers.
I then invited indignation,
Allowed her to stay too long at the table.
Rage-ridden I found myself.
Once she left fearfulness followed,
Grief grew beside her
In tandem, they existed.
I now await apathy
I hope she arrives soon.
But then there would be nothing left to write.