Short-lived.
It was a short-lived romance of how I really want to hold your hands.
And as it was as short as the day in a Winter Solstice, it was also as cold and bitter.
I no longer feel the desire of tangling my fingertips with yours, nor tying myself to yours.
But It is regretful that what was supposed to be us, became someone else's.
Your warmth.
Your melted honey words.
Your lips.
Your care.
Your very being.
I do love you in a way I'd still admit that I want you.
But I don't want you in a way I'd go out of my way to claim you once again as mine.
Because you are not. You were never.
For I knew I was just as temporary as the very first one you shared your warmth with.
And If there was ever a cinematic replay of my life, I'd want you out of it.
My very first Honey Tasting and it was sweet.
But it didn't last long.
And In my bitterness, I'd laugh as I miserably recall of how we were used to be.
And how you denied all of it.
There was no us in your vocabulary.
For I was as short as the day in a Winter Solstice.
