And from now on I'll only speak of you in my head.
Because vocalizing your name into the air keeps the memory I have of you alive. The enigma of who I want you to be lingers. In every sentence I form and in everything that I see.
I no longer want you in my head.
So from now on you'll only live inside my head where people will think that I'm finally done with you.
I'll no longer mention you, in hopes that you'll slip out of me and never come back.
In hopes that you dissappear from my thoughts and recollections and vocabulary.
So much so that if someone was to mention you, my stomach will sink from being provoked by your name.
I no longer want you here.