I convinced myself we were meant to be,
That the night we had together was something special,
More than just a taste of you to leave me wanting,
You were a whisper in the wind of a promise that never existed.

I find myself still clinging onto this false hope,
That the something you saw in me for that briefest of moments might shine,
I torture myself with words I might have said,
Of different choices, different outcomes, a less bitter pill to swallow.

I’m not angry at you,
I’m angry at me,
I’m angry that I promised myself this time it would be different,
That I gave myself a false illusion of hope only to meet the same end.

Now what’s left is the same incompleteness,
Longing is all I know,
The time wasted searching for another empty conclusion,
Each time I heal I find myself slightly more bitter than the last.