Like the ending to a movie,
I try to predict the day
you'll tire from my setbacks and
start to pull away.
For early signs I look out,
pairing perhaps rather paranoid patterns,
so that if you move out,
I still have an ounce of my dignity.
"It all makes sense.", is what I could say.
With the same rug under my feet,
I'd say, with grace,
"It's okay. I saw it coming."
"This? Oh,
this was nothing."