We can't go back to the
way it was, maybe because
our version of was
never existed.
It's always been this.
This dullness in her eyes,
in her movement,
shrugged shoulders and
sagging heart.
She says, "I'm tired",
knowing he'll never read
between the lines;
he'll never see a spirit
extinguished like a flame.
Slowly, the things I cannot
control start to follow me less.
If they argue, if they fight,
if they become each other's
darkness, if misery is their
favorite silhouette,
there's nothing I can do.
