Forests Are Overrated Anyways

It seems I've cooled off some as my thoughts
have stopped revolving around you.
I've all but forgotten your face and your charms in
these past two months,
and yet here I am, again at 3 in the morning,
thinking and writing about you.
Why is it so hard to forget? Ah, I am mistaken.
I didn't remember, I was reminded.
Reminded by writing, by summer homework, by summer.
I'm not the one who is at fault
for being unable to let the past die, for being unable
to move past some
silly.
little.
crush.


The first few weeks were difficult, the withdrawal causing
hallucinations at work, making it appear as if...
Well, making you appear. I would supposedly catch
a glimpse of you out of the corner of my eye,
having not thought about you consciously for a few days,
and my heart would stutter to life as I double-took.
But of course it was

never you.

Those weeks I saw everyone
except the one I most wanted to see.
But it was for the best! Because eventually
I stopped hoping all together.
If only fate were so kind.

Of COURSE I was proven wrong because
the next day as I was turning in my abysmally rushed  assignment
precisely on time (in other words, very nearly late)
that man in that car on that road,
who had that face and THAT expression facing in THAT direction,
told me I wasn't quite done.

Because there's no way you REALLY could have been HERE.
You have no ties here any longer,
and there's NO WAY you were feeling THAT emotion
as you saw THIS person, because
THIS person is merely a former student of THAT man.
And that certainly doesn't deserve THAT kind of elation and...

But even if you were there, I have now
stopped hoping - stopped caring - as the months
have ticked by and my summer vacation seems
more of a fantasy than a future.
Not going to happen.

And all of your wasted chances you had to display your affection for
your old friends and students have proven there really was nothing there
to begin with. It really was me deceiving myself.
I'm not giving you the benefit of the doubt anymore,
not thinking of you fondly from the crevices of my memory
anymore.

Because you're too consumed with your new life,
even in my memories,
too consumed...
No. I don't care anymore.

And this is finally a proper farewell poem.
One without anger, and bitterness, and resentment, and
love. Yes, thank god! There is no love here anymore,
and I'm not just feeding you warm and pretty lies.
My euphoria is neatly, precariously patched together,
and I am satisfied. I don't need another Euphoria Leak.

She is out of the forest and staying there, realizing,
finally, that there are other things to see than trees,
other colors than green and brown,
other people than
-YOU.-


She doesn't need a Teacher of the Heart, thank you very much,
and now I don't even miss my "later."