I never had a type
I could never choose.
To be fair
People would never choose me either.
I was the black sheep
The last kid picked when captains had to choose teams
I was never the first choice.
I was always the one who showed up
And you were the one who called.
You were always the poem
And I the poet.
There was no ending for you and I.
We were sparks lighting a burning house.
We were stars who were not meant to cross paths
Atoms who were not meant to attract.
Loving you was like rereading the same story
and hoping that the ending would change.
Now that I have learned my lesson
Your chapter has closed.
And I’ve thrown out everything that reminds me of you
Your clothes
Your scent
You.
Now I am left with
Echoes forever repeating in narrow building
Books collecting dust
The ghost of you.
