it wasn't the way you
approached her.
or the way you
spoke to her.
it wasn't the way you
looked,
nor felt,
nor smelled.
it wasn't about
your dreams.
it wasn't about
your goals.
it wasn't even about
the way you made her whole.
it wasn't your
stupid hair,
or your ignorant eyes,
or your overbearing hugs,
or even the two fucking times
you cried.
it's not the annoying way
you'd look at her
when you swore
to marry her.
it will never be the
way you kissed her..
or held her...
or some pedestal in
your mind,
you made her think
it's where you put her.
but after the blood...
the tears,
the work.
the work she put in
to forget you.
to hate you.
there you were.
with soft eyes,
warm embraces,
and promises.
all the promises:
to be better
to marry her
make a life with her
all the things
you knew she wanted
(to hear).
two weeks.
she's too weak.
your invisible string
is burning out,
she doesn't know this yet,
but you've been phasing her out.
she's in love with who
she thought you were.
now you're the best
and worst of all.
so is it her eyes?
her hair?
her looks?
or is it the way
she dressed?
or wrote?
or sang to you?
or are you just bored?
ego bruised?
no attention from her?
is it bothering you?
did you weave that
string to mend
the love you had?
or was it to
hang her from her toes
so she could feel
her blood rush
and choke?
why are you
still drawn to her?
did you ever
cut that string?
