It was great…
oh the lies we tell ourselves
You asked me how my trip was. I told you it was great. Part of me wanted you to be jealous, waiting for some reaction, for anything other than your poker face. You had nothing for me. You said something like, “Nice” and I got mad at you for never failing to hide your emotions. Or maybe you don’t feel. Maybe the moments we share are always left in the past, glad you lived them but “Hey, don’t be dramatic”.
I always say this is the last time. The last time I keep the sugar sachet you never use, the straw you chewed listening to my stories, smiling. There’s always something I need to keep when you’re not looking. An object that only I know was yours. A little stupid something that proves we existed. It was great, but really it wasn’t. Every time I’m left spent. Thinking I might not see you again. Nothing great about it…
