I'm sad, now.
Drippy-wet, even.

I'm sorry that I've made you miss me....
It's not that I don't love you, that I don't care....
It's not that I've forgotten about you.
It's just that you seem so..., out-of-range....
It's just that I've forgotten
    that I need to tell you
        that I love you.
It's hard to think--
    difficult to remember--
that you would be--
    could be--
subject
    to such mundane sorrows as mine.
I figure
    that you must be doing something important
and that I should not wastefully--
    wistfully--
        `miss' you...,
but, rather, have faith.
But, I suppose...,
    ...
    ...?