The love letters are hidden away,

placed neatly in a drawer that

is hardly ever opened.

Shut away in that dark space,

never to see the light of day…

just like the heart you so callously

discarded out of that window

of that moving car

you call your

soul.

And you mumbled out a half-hearted apology

as the heart thudded and cracked

upon the bare tarmac of

that road that was to lead

to a forever together oasis.

You never looked back,

to see how the heart bounced up,

then shattered into pieces

too small to glue back

and how the heated tarmac

melted it even further,

the heat from broken promises

and loud silence in the

twisted face of needs

and love languages ignored.

 

Next to the love letters, in that dark drawer,

never to also see the light of day,

is the hope nursed back to life

from the previous encounter.

You held that hope up high like Simba,

then proceeded to dash it against the dashboard

of your own ill-timed choices and decisions,

which, with every smash, jabbed that ballooning hope

piercing it through and through with no thought

as to the holder of hope and those that are in

the line of fire as it explodes in your hands.