I think a lot about you and me;
about what We used to be
when it was summer and everything was happy.

I think a lot about the fun We used to have,
how you could never make me mad,
and a phone call made a day good from bad.

I think a lot about the kisses you gave;
about what it meant to me when you came and stayed
when it was inconvenient for you, and I had to be brave.

I think a lot about the time I said
how I'd give you one hundred percent 'til the end,
and near the finish line: "Trying not to get attached," I read.

I think a lot about how I started to cry,
about what I told myself to deny
when it was clear We was soon to die.

I think a lot about how We was so mature,
how long distance made me forcibly stronger,
and it would be a waste of everything to be a doubter.

I think a lot about what you could now be doing;
about what you could be thinking
when it was sixteen days ago that marked the ending.

I think a lot about the fact that I miss We and you,
how I sincerely hope that you do too,
and my fragmented heart breaks when I realize it's probably not true.