There’s really nothing left to say, but I keep saying it anyway. It’s a habit I’m trying to break, but I probably never will. He’s stopped replying, but that’s okay. The whole thing was stupid, but I can’t stop thinking about it. Next time I’ll know better, I think, but I know I won’t.
only one of us
(prose: here, now. haiku: frogpond 37.1.)