"We're Not Naming Our Child Broccoli."

Thinking, thinking, thinking.

I think about you, still.  About hands and Grace Kelly and illegal car rides.  About how you managed to sever a friendship that was seemingly invincible.  Hearing things about you and from you and confronting you.  I think about how I ended up not being good enough or too good, but not in the right way.

I think about how I shouldn't be thinking about you.  I think, 'It's been nearly 3 years.'  And I was naive and nothing was real because there was no way we knew what we were doing.  Even though I think about how experienced you were.  And how wild you were.  I think about how not even you could change this prude.  Is that a bad thing?

I still think about the way you smell.  That near intoxicating scent that made me close my eyes every time you were near and just breathe.  I think, 'Was that creepy?  Did he notice?'  And then I find myself thinking that I hope you actually don't smell that way anymore because I don't want her smelling you and I want it to be my own memory.  And I'm thinking, 'This is definitely creepy.'

(But now I'm thinking I should blame that on you, too.  I mean, I already blame you for messing with me emotionally.  Why not add mental health to the list?)

I'm thinking about how, since you, no one's even remotely close to my radar.  I'm think that the damage is irreversible.  I'm thinking that I'm way in over my head and that I'm blowing everything out of proportion because how could someone so arrogant and irritating remain in my head for so long?

I'm thinking about how I'm so over you.  I'm thinking that that felt really good to say or write or whatever.

I'm starting to think that there's a small possibility it may be true.

But I'm also thinking that this is all my fault because--even though you were no good for me--I was the one who broke it off and I still wonder why all the time.