Loving you was like waiting at a stoplight that never turned green.
I could feel the time wasting away.
You drove across the intersection twice and I watched you.
I think you read the road map wrong, as usual, because you looked more confused the second time.
I knew where you were going.
North bound is the way to my house, but you were headed south.
I ran the red light.
I never liked to follow rules anyway.
I caught up to you quickly.
Speeding made my blood rush.
You took a sharp left into a graveyard.
The headstones were all engraved with pairs of initials, the first ones always the same.
You stopped at the newest headstone, the grass hadn't even been replanted.
In the dirt was a single flower and around it were all of the petals.
All I could hear while staring blankly at the grave spot was my voice echoing,
"He loves me not."
And there I stood watching myself get buried by someone I should have known never loved me from the start, but instead had been digging my grave the whole time.