114.

I don’t miss you
because I don’t dare
to let myself
because it would mean admitting
that you meant anything

I don’t know you
and perhaps that’s why
I cared at all; I only know
the surface of you
the things you tell everyone

There is nothing special
for just you and I
only anecdotes, conversations
in smoking rooms
a compliment here and there

The kind that you would give anyone
a look that you would give anyone
and they wouldn’t read it as I do

Advertisements

Leave a comment

Filed under Poetry

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s