He quickly forgot to hold her hands the way she loved it.
Who remembers those things after having stained the sheets?

The pain keeps turning her like a leaf in the wind
not seeing where it comes from,
or where it will go, for all it knows
is being swirled away in a state of chaos.

Her sense of right and wrong was dislocated,
as she keeps thinking back to how good things feel,
forgetting that one is not supposed to cling onto memories
of sensations. They delude you, make you ignore,
turn you away from seeing
where exactly it hurts.

She resists from calling him to not appear
desperate. Needy. Clingy. Anxious.
He is given more freedom than he needs,
which slightly surprises him.
Perhaps she does not care either.

Their twisted sense of communications
has brought the relationship
to where two people are not meant to be.
It is where the *** is incredulously fantastic,
while the non-*** is incredibly empty.