It seemed your hands could mold me
into whatever you deemed appropriate that week,
while I let you do whatever you pleased.
We collided at rapid speeds,
and neither of us would ever
accept blame for the damage done.
Now, after the destruction has ceased
to amuse you, you've moved on.
You've no bow, and no arrow,
but always a target, nonetheless.
Each one always harder than the last.

In the end, we'll still be friends
bound by mutual and situational obligations.
We'll run from the awkwardness
and try not to drown in the depths
of denial, for a little while.
After that, things will most likely be normal,
because astronomically, grudges aren't my forte,
and you're just oblivious to the pain
you've caused me. In the mean time,
I'm nobody's girl, and if you were to ever
come crawling back, it'd be something like
handing me your weapon so I could practice my own shot.