I spoke too soon, it seems,
For you made a home in my dreams.
While I slept you [bad word] yourself through my head, 
Like, “I won’t be dead yet.”
I said, “You don’t understand. We had no control.
They stole it; love’s been so unfair to me.”
“But see, boy, that’s my point.
You must move on.” 

Then felt her ghost move in me.
I heard her voice call out my name but
This time it faded out—away.
“I’ll bury it today.”
Today.

So I breathed her name out into a cold, cold room,
Watched her ghost ascend the walls and then dissolve,
“This time I choose to let it go.”

“This time I choose to let her go.
I will not let my fear [bad word] the only world I’ve ever known.
I know my heart, kiss my mouth, set me free—I’ve wounds to mend.
And we’ll be more than friends, my dear; I fear I’ve changed my mind again.”

“But, boy, you’re too late. Oh, God, it’s too late.”