Mourning Glory

I just got sick.
Of you.
Of me.
Of what used to be us.

When finally realising love is just not possible.
Between you.
And me.
What used to be us.

So I eventually gave up.

You, me, what used to be us will remain a nice memory from now on.

As I decided not to see you again.

You know I don’t have energy to waste for such feelings anyway. My memory should be more than enough.

I will just get back to conjugate myself with singular form. Once more.