When I wind up making your name a verb; or when your name becomes something I blurt out at random times but more frequently when I am upset, angry, surprised or when I'm not focused on a specific task... then you have probably hurt me deeply at some point in my life. I have probably scarred you too. It makes sense, then, that I call us quits, wish you well and hope to Santy Claws I never see you again. It means that deep down, I probably still miss you in that peculiar manner of mine... the manner that involves symptoms from shaking, fever, lassitude, auditory and olfactory hallucinations to physical pain.
It's unbecoming of me to return to this topic-- that last poem was your final gift to me; that last letter, my final gift to you. It's just that there are some things I just don't get over. That you are among them is indicative of how special you are.
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