Apathy creates the deepest fissure, and now the gap between us is caused by me.
The opposite of love isn’t hate after all.
Spark inside me some discourse. We need to have a conversation anyway. Make it hurt or heal or hex…just make it happen.
The all-consuming heat of anger beats numbness. At least I know I’m alive when I’m devastated.
But you aren’t a catalyst anymore. You don’t cause anything. And it’s only when I feel nothing that your emotions return. The bitterest irony.
With the season’s early darkening of the sky, I find my detachment strengthen.
If I could overlook our mistakes, I’d gladly reclaim my spot beside you in the bed I pretended was ours. But you taught me that this was only a dream, dreamed by the naivety of a girl whose love was fruitless. A whisper so faint, gently massaged my heart, spoken only when I was unprepared. Timing is a bitch.
Your time was gone before mine became a reality. And thereafter, my rose-tinted vision created tear-stained pillows.
So I wait for the rain showers of early Spring to arrive and pray the storms wash away mistakes of our past. I’d purge the guilt I felt for loving you so freely by standing unprotected from the rain.
It doesn’t matter anymore. I don’t feel anything for you.
But when you realize this I’m certain you’ll return. This time, you’ll feel the apathy-caused suffering. This is what you’ve created. That’s life, baby. You had your chance. It’s a shame you didn’t take it.
What will hurt most is knowing that the change of season renewed my romanticism. A seedling protected by new, fresh chances waits for warmer temperatures. And when safety arrives, I’ll nurture the new life inside me to seek what we were missing. Timing.