Blocked. Blocking the hope of a text message. A chance to even get in my head more. Closed. Closing the sheets in my room so I don’t get a glimpse of you. Down. Keeping my head down as I walk into the room. So that my eyes don’t “ironically” find you. Cold. The chills I get when I walk past you. Lies. The foundation of our “relationship”.
The series of actions I went through, throughout my break-up.
Whenever I enter any Indian Wedding, The clarinet would be lamenting in rejoice, Playing it would be very frequently happy tunes, The irony became so profound when I'd move further, Clarinet already lamented that the groom would lose himself.