Polishing off the bottle of wine I intended to ****** you with,
alone.
One glass in, and you ceased your drinking, our romance, and my foul intentions.
I want so badly to be broken by this, be angry, be sad, be hopeless.
Instead I'm thinking about how admirable your honesty is, how I wish more people had that courage.
I'm left here wishing I was lying when I said I was just that detached.