Hey, roomie.
I haven’t seen you in a while,
and to be honest,
I’ve been avoiding you for some time.
I thought you had moved out.
But I see you’re still paying rent
at my expense.
And showing up when you’re least expected.
You know, I didn’t mind you at first.
In fact, I kind of liked you.
Showing me a side of myself that I didn’t think I had.
Carefree, fun, and even a little dangerous.
That’s what you did.
But now, you’ve been here too long.
And I am scared you’ll never leave.
I invited you in, which was a mistake.
You seemed sexy, mysterious, alluring.
I know now that that was all an illusion.
I appreciate all that you have done,
woke me up and made me realize
who I could be.
But you’ve been living with me for so long,
I’m not sure how to tell us
or our possession apart.
Is that your grief and my guilt?
Whose happiness is that?
I don’t see a name on it.
You’re wearing me down.
I can tell I’m going to give up soon,
if you don’t leave.
Would you be happy if I did that?
Will you have won?
Or will we have both lost?
Please move out
by the end of the month.