Vice

I flip the pages of my diary, where I find the heart wrenching wounds of what used to be there. It was a simple, minimal, physical illustration of what I felt for you. But just like the rips of my now experienced heart, the pages are gone and the diary is hollow.

I used to write about you. I don't think anyone thought we were a good match, but I had such strong hopes for both of us. I wanted to paint you on the canvas of my mind and soul alike, like the white lilies that adorn the muddy banks of the river where I keep going to wash the ghost of you away.

I could have been your constellation, but you were too far to realize how much I could shine.

Ever heard the saying that breaking a mirror brings seven years of bad luck? You shattered the mirror of my faith , but you expected no repercussions. Life isn't fair now, is it?

I don't want to sound bitter, but only fools stick around when the love is all gone. You made me feel that I'm not somebody special, and I'm sorry that I had to feel that way, it's not easy wading through the cobwebs of my distrusting emotions.

You've crafted a piece of me that doesn't want to fall in love, and pushes people away. I want to loathe and despise you for making me like this. But the sad truth is, I don't because I know it's probably for the best.

I'm sorry that you and I didn't sail through, I just don't think we're good for each other. I haven't forgotten you, but neither have you been granted forgiveness.

It's never going to be the same between us now, is it, Insecurity?