One
day,
you decided that you liked writing in pen rather than
graphite,
but that was okay because you still took the time to pass me
notes.
The next month,
you took back your hatred for loose change and
started carrying fifty cents around in your pockets,
but that was okay because now you could get snacks from the
vending machine.
Ten weeks later,
you stopped wearing the shoes I gave you
because you said the boots from your mom were more
comfortable,
but that’s okay, because mother is always right.
31 days after that,
you asked for a room redecoration, fully aware that once it was
done
every trace of my skin in your bed would be wiped away,
but that was okay because I swore to always support you.
I didn’t expect to be the next thing you moved on from.
r.m.
