// the nail polish in my fingers is
chipped at the edges,
quiet like how my heart is.
you see I staunchly only painted my
nails black while we were together,
even though I knew he loved red.
now this fading red nail paint in my
fingers mock me in contempt,
reminding me of all those maybes
and could have beens.
now I drink tea,
black, with a spoon of sugar,
like how he drinks his.
I used to love coffee;
now coffee is like an old friend,
someone who is dear only in the
I don't know why but
now the things I love are the things
Death Cab by Cutie,
movies by Kieslowski,
I left him only to drench myself in
colours that were vibrant yet
now I have lost myself
and those pieces of me that echoes
in my heart are fading away.
I wonder if this is love
or if this is my grief manifesting
itself trying to outlive a death,
or maybe this is me,
losing myself in the shades of a
dead old love
to find the pieces of myself.
maybe this is me,
wearing the clothes of a love that
I pushed to it's death.
maybe cause there is comfort in
comfort in being someone else.
maybe this is me
choosing the lies,
choosing to become them.
maybe this is just me. //
Image courtesy @irinajoanne