by Sparks In Shadow

Photo by phillipbouchard via Flickr

The best of our relationship was lost on my family and friends. I’m sure they saw sticky webs in the silken threads that held us, teardrops like tiny crushed worlds – all sorts of sick sad poetry that shouldn’t have been written.

So maybe I’m not ‘cool’. If my being prone to lovesick prose and open to second, third, fourth … hundred seventeenth chances makes you sick, then fine. I don’t care. It’s what happened.

When he spat his hundred eighteenth chance at me, I was finished with kindness he couldn’t grasp.

Then he took “I hate you” to heart, like gospel.

I wrote this after seeing the photo above.