Unsend message #7

If I think of you, are you thinking of me?

That would be poetic justice,
I can only guess.

I’m haunted, not by you exactly,
but by the echo of what might have been,
a ghost that doesn’t want to be laid to rest.

I sit with my thoughts like unwanted guests.
Maybe I’m a coward.
No -scratch that-
I am a coward.
Choosing the anesthesia of comfort over the gamble of you.

Is this all on me?
Or are we both playing hide-and-seek
in a game where no one really wants to be found?