it's funny.

i actually have to try
to write poetry
about our situation.

i have to sit
and examine
scraps and snippets
of old relationships
in older notebooks
trying to sculpt
some sort of
passion
so i can write
because when i look
at our situation
there is none.

i thought i'd care more.

maybe it's cause
the sex was getting lame
or cause you
were really into math.
but...
i think i wasn't really
in love with you.
i was in love with the thought
of you, and, well
the reality
wasn't nearly
as exciting.

the best
or perhaps
worst
part is-

you broke up with me
i shrugged and walked away
whistling

and now
you're the one scrambling
to keep me on your radar.

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