I sort of feel like
it’s over and not over,
like sort of in-between:
desire and disappointment
entwined so much that you
can’t let go, well, not now, for
there’s history and touches that
take you back to what was and
the promise of what could have been.
So, it’s not over and the living is
easy of a sort and days go by and
you forget that it is not what it should
be and never will be, never can be, again.