a phone blinking in gloomy bedroom lights
a google search history, and a site
for sore eyes
that morning where the coffee i made him went cold
when i told him to go
and another morning
where he said he didn’t want coffee at all
and i broke down crying; this isn’t a discussion anymore
holding his hair back whilst he was sick
after taking too many drugs, again
the smell of cigarettes on his mouth
and his lips
guitar melodies that used to be just for my ears
well i guess she hears
them now too
and a gut feeling,
that i knew it was all wrong
for a long time
but i still clung on
fingertips leaving reluctant fingertips
in the departure gate
turning back one final time to watch him go
and with each step,
sealed our fates
his to move on.
like him before.
and for me to remain.
within the lonely tales of folklore.