Amusing how you said you feel terrible for me, and did the same thing, afterwards. Your sword damaged more, as I was insanely in love with you. Every scrape was slaughtering the tenderness inside me, as you weren’t just my lover. I miss you, not you certainly, I miss those eyes, sparkling and looking at me showing all the possession and sincerity. Sorry, I never told you that you weren’t allowed to come near me if you never really yearned to dwell.
I wasn’t actually startled when you left me. Bees flee too, after taking nectar from the efflorescence. You took out my every saintliness that felt like my home. I contained them in a jar of jam, all-glass body and in my cupboard. Safe with me. You begged me to discern them to you, I thought you’ll keep it carefully. You broke it and let them elope. Whacked back then and still suffering. I don’t want to be yours again. You put me in a zone where I feel loved but shattered at the same time. That overwhelming feeling fades away and become the dreadful damage drowning me into the ocean of agony.