Call me a Psychic | Poems that Suck

We'll chance upon each other, 
 some day or evening
  a long time from now. 

By then my heart will
 have scabbed over, but
  still the edges are tender. 

You'll be excited - "it's been
 so long!" - but I'll
  be full of dread, caution. 

I'll regard you coolly, just
 enough detachment to make
  you unsure, ill at ease.

I'll make some cutting remark, 
 veiled in subtlety, then
  excuse myself from your company. 

You'll mull the comment over, 
 repeating it in your
  mind, puzzling together its meaning.

And slowly, you'll reach the
 soul of it and
  know that I'm still bleeding. 

You'll watch me from across
 the room, and I'll 
  know by its focused heat,

But I'm too old and 
 too tired to play
  the games of young girls. 

You won't see me feigning
 laughter or pretending to 
  flirt with some random person.

I'll simply be me, as
  even keeled and placid
   as you knew I was. 

It will remind you of
 those quiet moments we
  shared, tangled in each other,

Doing nothing but marveling at
 the miracle of love,
  the wonder of eachother's breathing.

You'll then be in touch,
 and I'll hesitate but
  answer; no sense of preservation. 

You'll apologize for it all
 and I'll give you
  a halfhearted, watery kinda smile.

(Actions, of course, speak louder
 than words and I'm
  simply mirroring your past indifference.)

You'll realize too late, like
 they all do, that
  you made a huge mistake. 

But it'll make no difference
 to me because you
  had broken something inside me 

That day, way back, when
 I stared out of the
  window, watching a squirrel as 

You stood above me and
 recited a litany of
  why you didn't want me.

And maybe then you'll long
 for me the way
  I did those many months,

The wind blowing through the
 hollow in your chest,
  whistling past the ragged edges.

And then you'll understand, it
 dissolved that warm October
  as I sat in silence. 

You'll know it's too late
 for me, 
  for you, 
   for us. 

It's just now that you're catching up.