Stages Of Jaded

Meeting,

the subtle breeze of a calm storm brewing,

avoiding the outcome of two broken souls attempting to be in love.

Repetition,

the enchanting glances exchanged between us during our wars,

throwing dynamite and grenades into old wounds.

Patterns,

the way we enter each other's subconscious without knocking,

blaming it on lust instead of the consistent inner ache of loneliness.

Leaving,

the final twist of the ice pick glued to this dying love story,

the stumbles and gasping breaths of battered soldiers.

Missing,

the ghost our eyes are in constant chase of,

the first kiss we indulged ourselves in that never quite left with our goodbyes.