I hope your mother calls the new girl by my name.
I hope a client shares my face.
Or a lady at the register calls you “babe”,
Like I used to say.
I hope I am in every street you pass,
Or my scent is on a random stranger,
Reminding you of all the times we’ve had.
How you’ve moved on,
Yet can’t help but remember.
I want to be trapped in your mind,
Your dreams, the food you make.
I want you to think of me
Incessantly, harder than a falling star.
I want to stain your existence,
Like a bruise you can’t help but rub.
I hope that even when you settle down
Wife and little children running in your backyard,
You still find reasons to recall me
To suffer from my memory.
I am not in love with you no more,
And never again will be,
But I never want you
To stop thinking about me.
