They were both each other’s tragedy;
his ‘the one that got away’,
her beautiful blunder.

Loving him was both
      my reward and
      my greatest punishment,
      he was here,
      and then he was gone,
      and so was my heart.

The pacific and the atlantic,
how ironic
it must have been
don't you think?
How the green and blue
are able to meet
at some point, but never
ever allowed to touch.

They say all good things
must come
to an end,
but nothing about us
was even good
in the first place,
so why did we have to end?

I really wish
the universe had found
a way to let me know a bit earlier
that you were just going
to be a temporary
existence in this
permanent solitary heart,
the aftermath's pretty much the same;
well, it could be worst I mean
storms get predicted
so why can't you?

I sat on the table, looking at her
eyebrows furrowed,
protests and grief comes out,
like daggers flying right out of her mouth.
Each swallow, I felt it
somewhat stuck to my throat,
as I listen to her incessant rants,
speaking badly of him,
just because it hurts.
I couldn't help but wonder, did she
really love him,
the way I thought she would
or did she just do it, because even
after all these years
she only thought she should.

This is the ending story,
the last page of our fleeting romance,
where happiness confronts
you, right in the face
and tells you how fugitive it is,
that self-growth does not always come
with glee, but also with a price to pay.