Maybe

I've been thinking about the text she sent me last night, which is just so.. I don't even know which word to use, fucking heartless, that I can't even read it a second time. I couldn't sleep last night, I just kept thinking about all the things she said (running through my head, tatu style, you get the drift). Seriously? Trouble is, I don't want to let it go. But I was on the train on my escape day to London today, listening to Ingrid Michaelson and everything sort of spelled itself out for me.


Maybe, in the future, you're gonna come back, you're gonna come back around.
The only way to really know, is to really let it go.
Maybe you're gonna come back to me?

So that's it. I'm stepping back from this mess of a non-relationship. I don't want to be the one to say goodbye, but I will. Which means I have to reply to that text. Which means I have to read it again. Ugh. But not today. I'm in a foul mood today. London helped, but didn't cure it. I did however start a new poem, whilst sitting on a bench in Soho Square. You'll like it, I promise.