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Rated: E · Poetry · Friendship · #851941
Old lovers try to be friends.
Fancy meeting you here.
Sorry I didn't write.
I've been dying inside;
giving up the fight.

No, I'm still alone.
No one can fill your spot.
I keep thinking about
all the inner battles I've fought.

I don't have the One.
I think I did once,
but I let him slip away,
and he's moved on since.

Don't be so silly.
Of course it's not you.
That's what I say,
and what I pretend, too.

I've seen you around,
with a pretty girl in tow.
I thought you looked busy;
moving on, you know?

Lump in my throat,
heart giving a huge hop,
I try to approach you,
but then I just stop.

The girl is there, again,
and with a child in tow.
I sit back on the bench,
and let cold tears flow.

Eyes on the road ahead,
you leave still as a friend.
I wave, hollow inside,
as you leave me again.

We spoke about the present,
briefly touched on the past.
You finally had to leave
with the day fading fast.

I just smile dully,
and hurt so silently.
Only memories lurk here,
with plain melancholy me.
© Copyright 2004 There She Goes (genevieve_4u at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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