The One That Got Away

You're dead.

Or atleast you might as well be, it's less painful to think of it that way. Over the years this has vastly limited the illusion of seeing your face in the crowd, but I still worry one day I'll turn the corner and no amount of blinking will rid of your face this time. I sense it wouldn't be on preferred terms if we bumped into eachother, even in my best attempts to reconcile. Since the day you lily-liveredly went offline you've become a negative connotation for me. What was said behind closed doors? Whose whispers wilted our yellow roses? I suppose I'll never know.