Sometimes, I don't Think

I lay there, wide-eyed, battling the demons of insomnia. Turning over and over in my mind the last words she ever said to me. Never mind that they're not the most important of the words she said to me. I don't think about that. I don't think about the day she held me while I cried. I don't think about the day she told me she would always love me. I don't think of the moment when our lips touched for the briefest, most fluttering of instants. I don't think of the first time her expression changed forever, telling me how it would - could - never really work out. I don't think of the time things she said when she ripped down the foundation of my self-esteem. I don't think about the the way we used to scream at each other for hours at a time, rubbing ourselves emotionally raw. I don't think about the last time she smiled and the whole world was just me and her for hours and hours. I don't think about the way her eyes pierced my very existence when she glared.
I think about the soft music of her voice. I think about the sweetness of the scent she carried with her day-to-day. But above all, I think about the last words she had to say to me. I think about the way she said "goodbye," with sadness, hesitance, but a finality. I think about the last look she gave to me, her eyes nearly bursting, her lips bracing back her tears as she told me it was over.
When I think about all these things, I remember that it's all in the past. I think about the tears that she didn't shed that day that will one day fall if I ever should say another word to her. I think I should let her go, in my heart as well this time.
I fall asleep with a damp pillow.