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.