You never cared about me, not now, nor in the past, so why would
You care in the future…?
You lived for us—or did you?
You said, “I love you,” but I never felt it, never saw it in you, yet you told everyone
That you did.
I can’t even address how you relate to me in my poem.
I am referring to you as You because I am embarrassed.
I could write about you for the 7 years that I have known you.
They, "the outsiders," saw us as perfect.
They always wanted someone like me.
They thought it was because of you that I am where I am now.
My dear You, I can’t change the fact that you were in my life.
My first You, I hope we meet again—but under different circumstances.
My You, goodbye.
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