In a bath with the window open

I wasn't going to

keep your texts,

but I did. 

Who needed that

record of evidence,

I thought. 

But I did. 

I wasn't going to

get attached to those

words,

But I did. 

I wasn't going to 

like you, 

but, anyway, I did. 

Nor was I going to 

think of you often,

too often,
recounting, and recalling,

and I wasn't going to 

sometimes 

gasp aloud

upon that recollection,

but I did. 

I most certainly did. 

I self-promised I would 

not miss you,

but I did. 

I tried not to

like you, too much,

but I did. 

And I really wasn't 

going to, 

but I have.