Sometimes the only way to solve a broken heart is to remember that you can’t – at least not right away.
When did I start to lose myself in the idea of us? When did you start to run away?
Every summer, for the past 6 years, you were in trouble.
When was the last time you kissed me?
I left love here because otherwise I would not wake, fragments of ventricles and rhythmic contractions would bury my sight and force me to sleep.
We were never ripe, were we?
Do I taste the same to you now that we’ve expired?