Months Ago

​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


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