Penning down a massacre called love life
--- --- I remember all the excuses like how I remember the taste of my coffee. I always drink till the last drop bounces off into gravity and disappears just like you did.
There are a lot of stories of us singing and dancing like a bunch of retards and people remember us like that but all I remember is the day you didn't play the music and we didn't share a dance.
A pragmatic approach would probably blind me and excuses will bore like metal wisps into my clutched heart and I will lose weight over my stress. But you will need to spew those excuses. Still.
I don't know where we will end up. It's bleak from here. It was always bleak after the first few dances and first few songs.
We always came to the conclusions which took the most from us. Fighting, shouting, wanting, dismembering each happy moment.
Stretching moments in vanity and so much that the elastic bond would snap and you would smile.
Excuses will never be hard work. Your smile might indeed take a lot of muscle and mast and whatnot but it will still be rare.
Look where we begun and where we ended up. It's been a long time now and I know I say so because I will never be anywhere close to the happy times. It seems like an afterlife. And you are an after taste. After shave. Wafting. Bleeding. Pouring. Mixing. You are an element I once was made of and now you are nowhere. ---------
☆I write my own words.