Melancholia mulled things over a milkshake, and thought to herself:
If I had to think of all
the ghosts that broke my heart before I met you
I would see clearly why you were so special
in those hours
in those few summer hours
I would know clearly why
summer fruits can’t be eaten in winter
if I had to say that everyone after you
was like a Walmart, less cute, version of you
I would know that I am lying
because you were never meant to be permanent,
you were never meant to be the measuring mark,
Your name was transient and your love was nomadic like mine
Except we all know I’m terrible at my job while you,
You taught me how to turn away.
If I had to say I had a wake up call on any given day
I might pick today
I realised that it really was done after it was over
And I can no longer fall to my knees
Praying fervently for a return to the past
For a love that was never love –
It was only good because it was transient.
Sickly sweet the smell of defeat
The last little sweet memory is laid to rest
in the past and I accept transience cannot last.
And so all that is cherished is cherished as a memory, not a current truth.
But truth, even if only existing in a buried state, is still a truth.
Truth of the past.
So step out and stand up, and walk away and bite your lip and don’t look back because he’s driving off he’s driving off and he’s not coming back.