forgetful
I wish I could gloat
to you
Or at least appear unaffectedly nonchalant
Each time we talk casually (casually! Can you believe that? Can I
believe that?)
About the maddeningly fickle weather and balding lecturers
Because finally now
We can talk about the maddeningly fickle weather
And the folically-challenged teaching staff (who gets you so riled up
each time)
Without me trying to wedge a thought re:
the appropriateness of this
In between each sentence of the conversation.
My casualness is
more honest this time.
I am no longer your casualty.
So now I wish I can
gloat to you
With all my unaffectedness
And tell you
Casually, of course
When was the last time
I woke up and thought of you
And went to bed with a day-long thought
And rinse and repeat.
I wish I can also
tell you
When was the last time
I read a girly magazine
And read your zodiac before mine
When I got to the horoscope section.
I no longer do these
things.
I go straight
to bed.
I go straight to Leo.
I am not bitter
Just forgetful, I guess.
It is the memory that is being kind.
It is watered-down glue.
So
I want to tell you all that I've forgotten
So even you would be impressed.
But
I can't remember how I forgot.
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