summertime in the city.
I walk around the city with my friend,
We talk about you.
This isn’t casual—
We just pass by “our place.”
A month has passed.
It’s summer,
You’re gone,
But I’m still here.
Here I am, stuck in the city,
Walking around, seeing you everywhere.
You’re not here,
But you are.
Do you think of me as much as I think of you?
Because it hurts.
Do you find me 400 miles away in that city?
Do you see me in her eyes?
What if I were the one who got away?
Would you be going crazy like me?
Would you?
I just can’t wait until September,
The end of summer,
When you’re back,
So I can finally answer my question:
Do you think of me now that your room is empty?
