I would always ask if you were
A hundred percent alright. And you would always respond with ninety-five percent. The other five being with me.
But today I asked you again as I sat out in the rain
With my feet freezing - though certainly not as
Cold
As the gaps between each of our own sentences
We both were painfully aware should not be there. A hundred and one percent, you told me.
And maybe that is how I know that I don't mean anything to you anymore.