It wasn't until you pulled the carpet from underneath me
that I realized I was never the princess;
I was in fact the genie.
I had been blissfully unaware,
enjoying the view from up there,
dazzled by you,
when the world was never new.
I'm trapped in the dark now, again,
free falling through the starless sky.
It was never magic was it, just voodoo?
Well, no more wishes for you.

When your favourite song came up on my Spotify,
I froze.
For just over 4 minutes I couldn't move,
I couldn't think,
I could barely breath or even blink.
I felt cold, abandoned, disoriented, hopeless,
like the moment I knew we were done.
I'm holding on to Winter,
but there's the sun.
It hurts more than anticipated,
but I'm not deleting the song.
Shuffling between self destruction and being strong,
I must go on.

When the man at the hardware store asks,
what shade of blue are you looking for sugar,
to paint the walls of our hypothetical son's room,
I would have said heartbreak,
the same shade of heartbreaking blue as his daddy's eyes.
Ironic, because I would have rooted for a gender neutral colour,
an agnostic upbringing and a liberal education,
but somewhere down this erratic, dysfunctional relationship,
I stopped caring, or perhaps, cared only of you.
Since you left there's nothing to care about,
there's no you, there's no us, there's no motivation,
my priorities, values and aspirations are still maintaining a distance,
I'm feeling a heartbreaking shade of blue.
Like that one time I got high on dried out ****,
I was completely aware of every stage of this breakup,
the shock, the disbelief, the sadness, the pain, the regret,
until it stopped.
The world has come to a standstill,
leaving me tripping between spring and snowflakes on the windowsill,
I'm not coming down from the high, or low,
I should have got you out of my system 4 years ago.
It's not a linear process, said my friend,
and I know what he means,
because for everyday I get through without thinking of you,
I spend weeks curled up in pain in bed or on the floor,
feeling a heartbreaking shade of blue.
Kept awake at night, weary, paranoid and deluded,
suffocated, drowned in despair, sometimes even in air,
in the shallow words, empty promises and plans made,
thrown into solitary confinement among hundreds of other people,
breaking me, when I'm already broken.
All while you stripped me of my dignity, intuition and optimism,
disregarded my needs, exploited my insecurities and wasted my heart,
I thought I knew you,
come to think of it, I don't think your eyes are blue.

*****,
cigarettes,
knives,
many options,
when you are not one.

The 2500 km between us seems unreal,
when the picture of you in my mind, almost tangible,
keeps me grounded on most days.
Trekking across the corporate bog clinging to dreams of a country life,
with a peculiar combination of smug sheepishness,
provoking instincts to ravish or protect, I cannot decide.
The way you have with words is supernatural,
because your eloquence leaves me hypnotized,
the best case of spellbound I have ever been.
You had me at your first email,
keeping me sane and driving me insane,
you are, my favourite kind of perfect.
You've managed to lower all my guards,
breakdown all the walls, and
gather up a life's worth of insecurities into a ball.
Just as I stopped walking around on tip toes,
you've shattered it to a million shards,
and now I'm lying bleeding on the floor.
I'm drowning in air, waking up to a nightmare,
lost in my mind, paralyzed in my senses,
so much for believing in second chances.
Touché,
for perfectly blind siding me,
I couldn't save myself.

It's that time of the night; that time of the night
when you've made a new year's resolution to give up ****,
smoked the last cigarette and the shops are closed,
but sleep as it appears has little regard for the better person you are trying to be,
so you scroll through random videos and searches on how to beat insomnia to find,
Historic photos of love during wartime.
Suddenly you are craving for that kind of a grand love;
a love so great it hurts, it stops time,
it's commemorated years after,
but would it have to be a soldier?
Would there have to be a war, because #WorldPeace and #SayingNoToViolence is trendy at the moment,
so perhaps a sailor or an astronaut?
Does it have to come with an epic good bye, miles apart and no guarantee of return?
Though we all ache for an epic romance, that may be just a little too much work.
Suppose it's only natural when you're living a daydream and think in cliches,
the kind of love you sort after is ironic.
Is there just one?
Would it still be grand, hypothetically speaking, if it's lucky number six you are on,
As we've got the goodbyes, the distance and unpredictability down to a T,
before I become all dried out--- of love,
hope you'll make it rain, for me.

It's been a while since we last spoke,
3 years to be precise, but who's counting anyway, not me.
Definitely not me.
By the way I unfriended you on facebook,
I figured it's about time, I mean after 3 years of radio silence,
a long term girlfriend for you,
and a series of unsuccessful hookups for me,
I figured it's about time I gave up the illusion of being friends with you.
Every now and then I look you up,
and thanks to your disregard for security and privacy settings,
I stalk you, and her.
She seems nice, positive, bubbly,
committed to all the right causes,
I cannot really find any reason to dislike her. Shame.
Perhaps if I said yes the second time round, or the third,
perhaps if we hadn't been so young and had another go,
perhaps if you said yes, when I eventually felt so,
we'll never know.