Without Your Love

Two long years and 10 months, Our cherry-topped cream love had gone sour and cold. Your once-chocolate words have become bitter gourds. I wish your tongue couldn’t be harsher, for I remember its sweetness when love first knocked at our hearts. I sore my eyes from crying while you snore in your deep slumber, not daring to ask in the morning why I have these bulging red eyes. You feed me with fleeting things, future plans, money—well, not much, as I fill you with love and care, which you, yourself, never knew. If only you could see the purple scars in my heart, now turned to dirty white. I wish you knew that. I’ve been trying hard to figure out what made my cooking—my romance, bland, Did I put in too much sugar and cream? Or did my tears salt it with grim? Now, recreating cherry-topped cream, I found all the ingredients here but one. I should have known what's lacking. It’s not the sugar, salt, or cream. It’s you with your big, egoistic, proud heart. And then I wish this would be the last. Two long years and 10 months of cooking love without your love! ©reddragonfly⚘