I wrote you so many poems.
I forgot which ones they were or their name.
Just a bleeding into itself of yesterdays and regrets.

Who knew you'd tell me once not to tell you what to think.
And, I wouldn't.
And, I didn't.

But, me, on myself, on how I behave.
I just fade away faster than usual these days.
When someone abandons me.

Once again I must subvert my own interests.
For the fantasies about myself.
In other people's mind.

So, blame me for my response I guess.
I wouldn't know.
You left without a word.
No need to communicate.
To who you claim to love.

Or I could get angry.
Frustrated.
Passionate.
Something, I guess.

But, I don't.
I never have.

I just leave and move on.