Maybe we’ll get back together is still the same as maybe we won’t.
Your stale “I love you” is as useless as your heart: Fearful. Passionless.
Thin, without substance, depth, or anything to hold. That’s how your love is.
Potential and the flicker of light I once knew behind your dead eyes.
And in that moment I chose a future with you instead of being right.
We never meet up. Rather we crash. Intense. Hard. Like we’ve been waiting.
Our hands intertwined, I couldn’t tell you which were his and which were mine.