Confession au clair de lune

     Although I don't think of you often, you cross my mind every once in a while. I can't explain what I feel when I think of you. It's a strange sadness intermingled with relief and animosity. Sometimes I despise our demise. I find myself missing the warmth of your body and the sound of your laugh. I miss our clandestine meetings, the sweet kisses, and the intimacy we shared. Yet I feel foolish for being nostalgic for such things because in reality, you made me feel empty. There was a time when you fulfilled my expectations; but I'm different now and so are you.
     When I see you in passing, it makes me sad; not because I can no longer obtain you, but because it all ended so terribly. But what could I have done differently? Nothing. I did my part, as did you. But the difference between us was that I felt things at an intensity you could never fathom. And although I never loved you, I cared about you. And trusted you. And to see you walk away with from me feeling lighthearted and liberated crushed me. After our last goodbye, I sat on the cliff and wept. I wept for your carelessness and naivety and for my foolishness for trusting someone so narcissistic.   I made a mistake, one I hope to never make again.
     And now there is nothing left to say. This is the last time I waste my words on you.