A Lassitude to Stoicism

Friend,

your stoic expression towards me,

inhibits characteristics of apathy and awkwardness.

For that, I somehow feel the need to apologize.

I suppose it wasn’t my fault, directly,

and I thought it was something that we could get over.

Yet you continue to find a way,

to rebuke everything from my age to my

very mannerisms.

I’d like to think there used to be a time of fun,

before you grew into this, Idiot.

I've giving up pondering whether you remember
when I saved your jacket from watery thieves, 

or those random conspiracies and conversations
you and her put on the straw of my frosted iced tea.

I refuse to admit that I miss you;

I’ve just come to accept that I only miss 

the familiar presence you were in my day.

So best of luck, because I know in a month,

it’ll be the last time I’ll ever see you,

but that doesn’t mean I don’t wish 

that you could just get over yourself,

shed some ego, 

so I could try one last goofy attempt

to try and make you laugh again.