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.