We met only because you were a replacement,
like a Snickers bar.
The same, but very different.
I know you felt like the intruder
but like Doctor Who, I got used to you —
you were my flourescent to their incandescent
Alas — you too went you’re own way, without my permission.
Like they all seem to.
Are you still sitting in that hire car?
Maybe I should have been more strict.
Set hoodie rules.
That’s not my way. It’s not the relationship we had.
And, so even though you are the cotton equivalent of my
dead second wife
I must say:
I miss you. I really do.
I am not ready for my halogen hoodie.
Perhaps their time will come.
For now I accept a cold head.
Keep Going Me; no dangly string to play with.
When I get nervous.
Goodbye hoodie that replaced my hoodie.
I wish you well.