Two heavy pours of whiskey eyeing me;
Lascivious and silky.
Taunting me the way empty promises do.
Sitting conspicuously among the things that make us up.
Things an outsider would recognize as belongings to a pair;
Things that when discerned separately, claim us as individuals,
And now
Neatly scattered atop each other become an identity of one.
But only to those you allow.
A trap meticulously placed.
Intently.
Honestly.
Empty.
Suffocating.
A fairytale.
Existing only in the romance I’ve tried to breathe into the space I’ve shared with you.
For me
A sobering moment on cold, wet pavement.
It’s painful feeling the shift inside of myself.
Hearing your words resonating inside of me;
As though I’m hearing them for the first time;
Knowing I’ve recognized the words coming from your mouth countless times before;
Finally feeling the impact of them.
The truth you promised and I refused.
Vibrating now to my core;
Echoing in a way so precise it susurrates to a stillness;
Provoking the shattering of will and hope.
You didn’t do anything wrong.
There’s so much you’re not doing right.
It’s bitter, the taste of a lesson hard learned;
Wanting the one that won’t allow themselves to want you back.
an invitation to witness the most sacred parts of me 