There was a girl I loved in high school.
Freshman year.
And we had this big long corridor by the library, and it was muraled.
And right before the doors, there was a heating vent painted like the back of an old car,
And every time she passed it, she'd kick the bumper.
She graduated and went away,
And I didn't mention her anymore.

People think I forget.
People think it is possible to stop me loving somebody,
By distance or by cruelty or by advice, even.
And after a while, I do let them all think it.
It's easier for them.
But the truth is, on the last day of my senior year,
I walked by that vent, and kicked the bumper.

I decide if and when a person stops being important to me.
Try and force me and you might believe you won,
But in my little way,
In my quiet, every day sort of rituals,
I always have the last word on who I care about.

Every time I walk in that building,
I go to that hallway and I kick that stupid vent,
And I always will.
So darling, if you're planning on forcing me...
Good luck.