I am letting you go now... now.
Outside, the rain is waiting
To take me somewhere—somehow.
Roadwork ahead, traffic's suffocating.

Their eyes land on the toilet
Printed on my shirt. They smile.
I smirk, "Not for flushing to forget—
But somehow to make the soul fertile."

One, two, three — my heart is dead,
Not because of you, but by my choice.
It’s not love that I dread,
But the raw pain in its voice.

Watching the world through a bus window glass,
The universe, the time, the vastness—
And still, there was never us.