…that you no longer wanna talk. To me. The deep conversations. When you used to say that my voice was like the best song. To you. RnB. Like your favorite rhythm & blues. Singa. Ykee Benda. It’s hard to believe that you no longer wanna walk. With me. Nor do lovers things in the house. In the dark. On the bed. On the streets. Passersby are our witnesses. It’s hard to take it in that I lost it all. I took the fall. Sky fall.
It’s hard to believe that now what I got are the memories & scars. Of the life that we had, the laughs & the cries. The fears and our strengths. That was love. The dreams & the plans. The dates & the fights. The love that was made, the passion & its flames. 50 shades. Now fading. Like the sea waters that had washed up on the beach but now ebbing.
It’s hard to believe that I always told you that I never wanna lose it at all. Now I wish I had screamed the words. Written them on a rock or tattooed them on. Permanency. Now look at me, a moving, heartbroken Neanderthal.
It’s hard to believe that there’s nothing that you did without knowing its outcome. And even all your apologies & cries still none convicted you to stay. When I’ve ever talked to you about everything that you broke. And everything that you broke were my promises & insecurities to you that I’d spoke. Iscariot. What a waste of whatever I told you. You girl, you stung me deep to my soul.
It’s hard to believe that now I have another…battery dies.