The Starbucks was torn down where my fantasies of us were set apart from tangibles that shattered my existence; its been five years since then and I never wrote a metaphor better to describe the mark that was left on that day or in the inevitability that all things must change
Because I once painted a dark haired girl the color of my world it was art on its way to self-demise overshadowed by the comfort of those nights that we would hide blending into our chameleon moonlight, she left me with many questions but the answer to only one: becoming empty enough to know how not to love
This lesson was carved into the stone of that suburban parking lot, a reflection of her succinct goodbye that collided with the surface of every whisk to breakfast and sunshine she rejected in my room, engulfing me in combusted lies mixed with the scent of coffee and fleeting perfume
I was left smoldering on concrete with the opus of an imbalanced soul that reduced me to nothing inside except reluctant aches that ravished in our severed ties, and all I could do was sit there basking in the rays of the only time we ever shared morning light