I am tired of writing so much about you
I am tired of seeing how excited your eyes were,
only to find out
that you're gaze wasn't fixed to mine.
Those pair of sad eyes were searching for someone else's face
in a room full of strangers
Today, I am not writing of how sad I was,
but, I am writing the things about you-
How deaf you were
that you cannot hear what my heart was telling you-
of how sad it was,
of how tired it was,
of how numbed and calloused it was.
But now, I am relearning how to wipe my own tears
sometimes writing means remembering
