The way your name sounds
when it rolls off my tongue
has begun to lose its luster.
And the sparkle in your eye
has faded to a dull glint,
sort of how the sun reflects
off of rusted metal.
And the way you touch your hair
when you’re nervous is no longer as
endearing as it used to be,
because I find myself rather
bothered and annoyed anymore,
when you reach for a limp lock of fading hair.
Fading love is the most difficult.
Because I still see pieces of someone I love
in there somewhere but it seems as though
my love has faded with the rest of you.