What hurt most?

I think: you wouldn’t wake me from my dream

when we could have shared together; could have talked

and wrestled the thoughts between us and put them

into chill. Or that ‘just’ that stunned, so casually

insinuated, cruel. You know I was nothing,

waiting for break-up, or maybe the lie.

No real apology. Smearing me with malice,

your adjectives. Forgiveness, though is

a dish best served late, and so, so cold.