Out of Site, Out of Mind

Take your leave while you still have you dignity. Four months from now out tires will by cut once and for all, you will cease to pull at my strings 3000 miles away from the place you once called home. Hopefully it will meet your high expectations of climate and culture, or studies and suns, of dreams and dillusions. The unfinished business will rot because you're not returning to clean up the messes that you've made. Always adding ingredients with a slightest smirk, always adding them to your melting pot, ever overflowing on to the table and down its legs, staining the marble and seeping through the cracks that we've created. I will not sit with a map on my thighs tracing your futile journey, the lines won't define anything with substance. You decided to take the highway as oppose to the highroad, and yes you are running away. You can leave town and coast, but we can never call it even. You've tipped the scale and laughed in the process. No, you'll never understand. No you didn't break me. Yes out of site is out of mind, but no you'll never be far enough away.