It was strange, meeting you again after months. The person I shared a life, a home, a bed with for years. The one I thought would be the one till the day I died. Or you did.
Love, I have realised now more than ever, after this experience with you, is a changeable thing, a fragile creature that morphs and mutates and is fickle. It is not constant.
Today there is a corner of my heart still reserved for you. It holds you close and wishes you well, but does not want to be a part of your joy or pain. It will pity you or rejoice for you, but not be involved. It will gaze at the photograph of your lake but not come close to its edge.
That is the only thing left of us in me.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment