Even though the years have passed, I still think of you.
The memories were short but the lessons were strong.
I'm still bothered by how you rejected me, so suddenly.
I still look back at the words you said to me.
I wish to hear your voice.

"Headstrong," you called me, and "Wise."
How wise is it to dwell on something you never really had?
What is it to love? I don't know.
Love shouldn't crumble to dust at a touch.
But when you said you wanted to protect me,
I melted. I still melt. Oh, to be sheltered.

You know you're such a bastard-
a coward for running away.
Be a man and stop blaming people for your actions.
I get so angry thinking of how I crawled to you.
Wrote poems and songs and essays
and laid my heart raw and broken on the floor.
Debasing myself for someone like you.

And yet my heart still sings for you,
that tiny part that cannot die.
I think everyone shares a part of themselves
with their love forever, no matter if the love dies.
Is mine dead? I'm not sure. But you
have turned your heart off like a faucet.
I still bleed from the open wound-
things not resolved still haunt me.

Should I write? I think not.
Your friendship is not worth my pain.
But I shall still look back at us,
read and savor your words like wine,
get drunk off of their power.
I awoke with tears on my pillow
and I shall be buried with tears in my grave.
I sincerely hope you regret your leaving
and everything unfinished that lies here.

I may be foolish to still feel for you,
and wish you might drop by.
But I suppose I accept things as they are now;
me wrapped in loneliness amid the crowd,
and you draped in the unknown over there.
I have loved others now, and I suppose they
are more worthy of my heart than you.
But maybe not, for you were always kind,
and it felt like you loved me true.
It is all in the past now, just like you.