we were on a break

The longingly sympathetic upset when you see elderly people with cheap wired headphones,

And the gut-wrenching, all-knowing that it’s ending on a random Sunday evening.

I was too afraid I’ll never be loved so delicately again to let you go. I let in linger and allowed myself to dream a fanciful future; one I saw fading as the nights grew shorter along with our conversations.

I have a catalogue of poems you’ll never read now.

 I had them stowed away, always in a rough draft, always returning to them late at night trying to polish them up for you. I never wanted to send one unfinished, vying for your good words. Now that we’re not together you’ll probably find my writings to be whimsy and childish; but that’s the girl you loved once.

Until suddenly, you didn’t.

You pushed me back like a sheltering arm at a stop sign, aware it was for the better. I’m left feeling the cold chill of November creeping upon me, and with it comes memories of windswept hair and laughter. Of morning coffees and bad country music- prophetic of us to visit the heartbreak museum in Zagreb, wasn’t it?