For Marcos

It's over.
Again.
One, two, three times.
Three pairs of months with you.
Separated by the realization
of why I broke up with you the first time.
I keep forgetting.
And when I remember,
I break your heart all over again.
But this is the last time.
This is really the end.
It's really over.
No more presents-cards,
teddy bears, sodas, rings, necklaces,
posters, pictures, hats, shirts, socks.
No more.
I don't want it.
I don't want to lean on you.
Your advice, give it to someone else.
Because I'm not going to forget.
I'm not going to break your heart again.
I'm tired of that look.
It burns when you look at me like that.
I see the pain.
I know I caused it.
But this time it's really over.