We both know it's over,
Though we haven't spoken a word.
And I hear your sleeve rustle
As you run your fingers through your golden hair,
Nervously. Impatiently.
You don't want to be here.
Our eyes meet;
They match the coffee sitting on my bedside from this morning.
Cold.
Bitter.
Unfinished.
My hands rest in my lap, clasped together;
As if to pray to some obscure divinity
That can't hear me.
Gaze fixed on chipped, red nails,
Trying not to bite my tongue.
You knew it was wrong;
You knew it would come to this.
You knew all along.
Didn't you?
Jaw clenched,
You stare out a window,
Plotting your escape.
I try to remember the good times,
But they all seem so out of context now.
Your smile seems so crooked now,
Your eyes seem cold and distant now.
Your charm,
But free deceit disguised as cheap love,
A poor alibi for worse decisions.
You don't love,
You lust.
Because that's all you've ever known in this world,
That's all you ever learned from your sick father figures:
I want.
I need.
I have.
Human connection,
A waste of time.
Love and affection,
No worth to speak of.
So, tell me.
Was she worth it?
"I love her," You say quietly.
"I know," I reply.