I have given up on
trying to find somebody
who will make me feel
the way you do.

And I don’t mind
truly, that things are not
the way they were.
I remember how you looked at her.

When she turns and tells me:
“He’s just like (you).”

I stop.
I glare.
I correct her.
I say:
“He’s nothing like (you).
(You) respected me.”

You loved me.

I loved you, too.

I have accepted
that I will not be attracted to
others just as easily.

The first time I saw you,
my head spun around until
my neck cracked.

When he walks by me,
I don’t even glance back.


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