I keep forgetting small details. 

How it is you looked at me that time you asked me out at the video store. 

How it is you felt beside me in a bed. 

The way you told me to move over one too many times while we slept or the way you smelled after sex. 

Maybe I’m not forgetting as much as I’d like. 

I don’t like that we are in contact again. It’s making me lonelier than ever during a time when I’ve totally lost track of who I am. 

If you could promise me I wouldn’t become some dependent slob I’d allow you this friendship but I’m afraid I’m less than prepared and a little more than heartbroken  to rekindle this with you. 

Perhaps I thought this would solve some other problems in my life. Maybe when I come home we can say goodbye (in person this time) before I go sell my soul to the city.