I would have loved you tonight if you had not been drinking, but for some reason you took to the bottle instead of taking refuge in me.
I could have been your safe harbour, your rocky shore to cling to, the anchor to hold you firmly in place, but you could not or would not see it.
You have always been so good at turning a blind eye.
If we had simply touched, then things would have been fine. We would have shaken off the bad tidings, laughed at the ridiculousness of life and just held eachother as we floated above the weight of the world.
I don’t know why you don’t know that I need you right now. In not having you right at this minute I feel more alone than I ever could have, even in that time before you when it was always just me. Your cold arrow strikes right to my heart, and it strikes so horribly true.
The pointed tip you send is crueller than most. I would rather it bring death. Instead it has become permanently lodged, a constant, ripping, shredding, festering kind of pain that can never be overcome or overlooked.
I don’t want things to end this way, but I feel that this is how you’d rather be, otherwise why would you choose to be like this. And there is no mistaking it, a decision has been made. You are there and I am here; for two people so close we are so very far apart.
When things grow cold, too cold, they turn brittle and break. The resulting pieces that shatter on the ground can never be mended. We should not let this happen to us. These two halves of the whole need to have constant attention to keep the warm connection alive, otherwise how will we know when to fan the flames and when more wood is needed to stoke the fire.
Whoever you are right now this is not you, but this is me. I hope you realise this in time before all is lost and things that should not be unmade will be forgotten.