I am done with you.

You who rarely think of me while I wander store aisles looking for the perfect gift (in red, of course — your favorite color).

For too long thoughts of you have ruled my life.

I will no longer cut short phone calls to save the airwaves for you.

Those treks to the mailbox only to return empty-handed will be no more. I am weary of not seeing an envelope with my name written in your handwriting with that little curl at the end of the “s.” And the stamp posted upside-down.

You will no longer consume my thoughts, for I have more important things to ponder than your blue eyes and that little scar shaped like Texas and the way you say “manicotti.”

As of today — yes, this minute! — you are erased from my memory and my dreams. I will not listen to the songs that speak of you, especially the one we heard at the river that night in June with the car windows down and the crickets chirping.

I will not get nervous when I see you in a crowd and you have yet to see me.

The moon will not remind me of you. Nor will ocean waves, October sunsets and the smell of cashews.

And that lady at the restaurant who sang so off-key we could not control our laughter? I will not smile when I think of that night.

For — you see — I am moving on.

Your voice will no longer captivate me when you whisper comments in a quiet auditorium. And I feel your breath on my ear.

The tingling my body feels when you slip your fingers in mine will cease. I will not have it. Especially when you tickle my palm with your index finger and our shoulders rub together.

Yes, this is it. This time it is for real. I do have a life apart from you, you know. You are not the only fish. I can stop thinking of you. I could stop thinking of you right now, and that would be it.

And I think I will.

For I am done with you.