I felt him leave before he left,
I felt the warmth leave his hugs,
And the passion leave his kisses.
Conversations grew shorter and more strained,
And the fire in his eyes extinguished.
He became unaware, unconcerned, and absent.
He sat beside me and I felt no comfort.
He had clearly decided long before he walked out,
That the fight was no longer worth the prize.
His boxing gloves hung up on the shelve covered in dust, broken promise, and memories.
Never to be touched again.
He had been gone, long before he truly left.
But I still fought because I didn't want to lose the prize I thought would exist in my simple version of forever.
I didn't want to lose the warmth,
Or the passion,
Or the comfort,
Or the love,
Or him.
But I did.
Because sometimes people become a memory, when they're still sitting beside you.
No matter how hard you fight.
YOU ARE READING
A Collection Of Things I Am To Afraid To Say
AcakSometimes, writing down what you wish you could say, is enough to make you better.
