Quite punctual, one might say:
His loss of interest.
We would've been a scandal,
A scarlet letter;
And I imagine
He began to wake up
In a sweat,
Unable to handle
How he felt;
Unable to handle
The consequences.
So, is this it?
If I fight hard enough,
If I show up,
And make him laugh
Again,
Will he come back around?
Before now,
I was unaware of how much
I cared,
As he left,
I shrugged him off, saying:
“Suit yourself.”
But a depth opened up
In the pit of my stomach:
Something I couldn’t patch up;
Something that caused me pain
As I bragged about him
To my friends.
I know he’s gone
For good,
And I won’t bother him
Any longer,
In that comfortable peace
He refused to sacrifice.
But I can’t help
Every night
(And I doubt he’d blame me)
To check my phone
For the thoughts
He used to send me.
But they come no longer,
And that I must accept;
Just like I’ve grown accustomed
To the sore pit
He left in my life.