Wednesday, 15 November 2017
I was crushed. Watching you from the kitchen in disgust. Your tyres spun and kicked up a swirl of dust. It lingered in the air like the silence after you first cussed. A last 'up yours' to my broken trust. I grabbed the kettle, hand shaking, noticing the rust. "Stainless steel" I scoff, nonplussed. I remembered my words when our lips first brushed: "take my heart if you must, but always treat me just, don't make me feel rushed, please understand that I am slow to trust." And away you charge, flippantly as I combust.