Fleeting and Few

Maybe it's a good idea that we've stopped keeping in touch. I do get along much better with my husband and have more energy and focus on the family. Thanks for that. If you hadn't acted like a complete asshole, we'd probably still be communicating on and off, and my heart would still be in little curdled pieces.

I find that I still think of you every day, but in a dispassionate detached way, like I'm curious to know what you are up to, and it would be interesting if we ran into each other, but knowing your absolute horror for crowds (even the lunch crowd at work) it's unlikely. I have no feelings either way. Or none that I deem fit to recognise the existence of. I no longer see significance in little things, like if I pass your house in the mornings, I try not to wonder which window is your window. Or which black porsche could have you in it. We can only feel hope for so long, I guess.

Did I ever really care that much?
Is there anything left to say?
-------------------------------------------------
So I try to say goodbye, my friend.
I'd like to leave you with something warm
I've never ever been a blue, calm sea
I have always been a storm.

Fleetwood Mac says it all.