Moving on was easy.
But getting over you?
No.
The music CDs still lie somewhere below the loose floorboard, accumulating dust.
The guitar still waits to be strummed, I didn't repair that one broken string.
My computer still downloads the movies from the playlist you created.
Only, nobody watches them.
I smile though, I laugh, I talk, and I feel that I'm becoming like you, more and more.
You won't recognize me now, if I walked passed.
Finally I am what you wanted me to be, but too self sufficient for your taste.
I have moved on, but I haven't gotten over.
BlankSheet