Love gone cold, clotted as conjealed blood on a scabbed knee.
The bitter remnant of a white hot lust. A relationship founded on fire turned to ash in our kisses.
I look at you and can’t remember the woman I met with her flashing flirtatious wit. I see someone as discontented with me and her lot as I am with hers and mine.
The tarnished mirror image of disappointed love.
Why not set ourselves free?
Have we sunk so low and loved so shallowly that we would rather the comfort of a curse than the profound silence of being alone?