I will not hear you

when you cry out.

I will not run and hold you 

so you won't go.

I have lived here 

in anger without 

you.

I know nights when I longed 

for your body,

when I wanted you next to me.

When I pretended that you were here.

So there will be no cry to keep you.

I will not talk you into a new idea about us.

It is not me.

I have lived here with you in a sullen loneliness.

So it is not you that I will miss.

Pierced by this worried thought.

It is not me that you loved.

I am just the memory of what we once wanted. And

you are the bitter piece of me that I must respect 

and let go.