faker

you don't miss her.
clearly.
and there are no words.
she writes anyway.
but there is nothing left to say.

just a tired apology that spins over and over
on a broken record.

a sigh of vinyl and we're nowhere new.
calendars marked up in hope
are only scars on her wall.

nobody can make it go away
because the cause was incomplete.
and you didn't get it.

she knows. she knew.
she just wishes it were different.
but that would make everyone different.
because they make it this way.

and she is so tired of being vague.
and she just wishes you would at least even the playing field.

guilt is ten times worse than sadness.
and she's got a bad case of both.
but you don't care enough to help her.
you didn't care.
and you don't miss her.
clearly.

--MRS 8/30/08