Broken Sky

There you are again, a permanent figure in dreams that I can remember. These hazy complexes continue to form new haunts, shifting ever so slowly as revelations are made about her. Variegated in story line, yet the message remains clear.

Pitter patter.

The rain cascades down in thick sheets, and I learn to bury the vestiges of my heart underneath a rock – safe from the elements that you cast upon me.

He is a good man with a good heart, and I was a wild child with no trace of empathy. At least that is what I told myself – but maybe it is time to let him off of his pedestal.

Continents apart, yet you continue to form most of my waking moments. Our conversations twirl in a beautifully toxic circle, one that never quite comes undone. She could have been anybody, and my world would have collapsed all the same. They call it a broken sky.

During one of our last phone conversations, I silently promised myself I would never be involved with a man who has a girl waiting on the line. This world of hurt, I could never.

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