If I didn't know how,
I would have let this pass.
You keep going to her,
Saying it's equal,
But nothing feels the same.
Your reply is a weapon,
Words laced with rage
"Are you serious right now?"
Counting hours like debts,
As if time spent could heal the divide.
But we both know,
It's not the hours,
It's the weight of being left behind,
The quiet fractures in our bond,
Splitting at the seams, unseen.
You don't want to fight?
But these words,
They're a battlefield,
Where wounds are carved,
In things left unsaid,
In the anger we try to hide.
Once, there was laughter,
Now there's only the cold calculation,
Of who stands where,
Who feels forgotten,
Who loses the most.
Maybe it's not about hours,
Maybe it's about trust,
And how easily it slips,
When you're looking the other way.
