It’s not you,
it’s me.
I woke up wanting you
and I never meant
it to be that way.
Shackled to the possibility of you,
sometimes twice
a day.
And if I didn’t have you,
it’s as though
the absence of you
became its own thing,
a Quite Horrible Thing,
randomly reading out
my meanest thoughts.
What we had was amazing,
and I will miss the way you bit
into my brain,
and the gush
of ideas.
It’s not you,
it’s me.
I’m simply meant to be
more quiet
like tea.
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