A forget me not

I wonder if when you read this, which we both know you will, you’ll
Know that I’m talking about you. It’s kind of a thrill. As the writer I
Know what I’m talking about but as the reader you’re just trying to
Figure me out. There seems to be an irony in that, given that you
Know me so well. But irony isn’t the topic on which I wish to dwell.
The topic, I’m afraid to admit, is you. Ridiculous I know but yes, it’s
True. The rhyme scheme and enjambment is entirely for you. Perhaps
You’ll be so concerned with literary technique you’ll overlook the words
That the writer (that’s the role I play) is trying to speak. So, I miss you.
Not all the time. In fact there are times when I’m glad my days are
Entirely mine and that they don’t have to be shared. But there are
Also times when I miss the times of comfort, when you cared. I miss
The cuddles and the occasional row when I’d think you were an idiot
And you’d think I was a moody cow although the words would never
Pass our lips. It’s unfortunate that it’s come to this. Semi-anonymous
Words on a page being carelessly left on my internet stage where I
Am the playwright, writing to amuse. No one really knows that I’m
Writing to a muse. You’ll read it and momentarily entertain the idea
That you’re the person I’m talking about here. Then shaking your
Head you’ll say, “No, of course not.” And this will become another
Poem that someone read, and then forgot.