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
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.