Those tripwire words flashed on my phone again,
The ones that walk the line between
You’re great and it’s not working,
Between it’s been fun
And I’m leaving.
Uncertainty artfully woven between lines
making it seem like a harder choice,
Hiding the truth in all the white noise.

I’ll pretend the biggest casualty
Is an old t-shirt that I think must be
balled up at the bottom of your bed.
Claim I’m really fine, I don’t much care,
She was pretty, a redhead,
But it’s no big deal, I’ll swear.
This saves me the trouble of being the bad guy.
Plus Beacon Hill is a long ass bike ride.
So I’m fine.
Just more wasted time
to bottle up inside.