I wanted to take her home again
To the little blue bedroom
With flowery bedsheets and white blinds.
I wanted to take her with me;
Wrap her cinnamon hair around my fingers —
Glance at her nudity
But examine every single detail
Last time was full of regret…
Two minutes after, I felt alone in the house they once left
With someone breaking the silence
She was a speaking statue,
A proof of status — she had been mine. Still, she was
A well read memoir I didn’t want to keep
She didn’t ask to stay, but I forced her to leave anyway
With her bike and sad, random words.
She knew way too well
How I was still mourning the dead that afternoon
To this day,
She keeps coming back
With cinnamon and pallid lips I don’t want to kiss again.
Lips that want to say words that need to be heard,
But I don’t care… I never did.
I just shared my loneliness with you
And felt bad for both of us afterwards