I'm known to take the bad news
with a sarcastic smile,
to maybe choke up over something stupid,
but hide that I even think about
the real things.
I know I'm going to
pretend we're okay;
I've been doing that for
six months and thirteen days now.
But what am I talking about?
We're not "we" anymore.
I don't want
to be just...
"me."