I wonder every day
if today
will be the last day of loving you.
How many more are to come?
Before I drum you out of thought forever.
Well, I might have the odd glance.
I might think on a soft night or,
seeing something that I used to see
might think of you;
Now I would see, and think,
of thinking,
stop.
I would hopefully not continue.
Love is a pest,
(so they might as well say)
and you are the worst of them,
Please, go away and leave me to wonder,
Count up the days 'til I no longer dwell upon
when I can say
that today was the second-to-last day I loved you.
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