Our love was like
the quill you gave me for Christmas
that one year, that
I never learned how to use.
Aesthetically pleasing,
object of envy,
idea of perfection, but
sloppy and awkward in practice.
We could've been brilliant,
but we could never get it right.
So we gave up trying, to gather dust
on display.
But even that grew less appealing
(until it wasn't anymore).
Our affair was like
the bag of dark chocolate kisses
you gave me on our first Christmas
together.
I devoured the entire thing
in secret, and
threw away the wrappers
without a thought.
We were meant to be
expendable.
So we took all that was offered,
and gave nothing in return.
But all bad habits take time to break
(until they don't anymore).