Stained.

You corrupted everything.

I still can’t think of waffles on a Monday morning without thinking of you.
I still can’t listen to the songs we danced to at midnight without feeling my hand give in.

I remember feeling you breathe, late one Sunday evening, when you told me that you fake pretence when you have to.

And I said that I don’t.

Because I don’t know what grey is. I never did.

I should have walked away right then. Little did I know that you’d been wearing your mask ever since the moment I first met you.

Every lane we’ve walked down together, every café we had coffee in, the rain in this little town – everything seems tainted now.
Our seas met, but the gulf remained.

Knowing that it’s over hurts.
But knowing that it never was; that’s the poison that killed us both.

3 thoughts on “Stained.

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