I sat at my window,
watching the last of the drizzle,
going over and over
about the last time we spoke.
Gone are those feelings,
both bliss and betrayal,
now all that is left
are these questions that linger.
You said you wanted someone nice.
Wasn’t I nice enough,
or was I just too nice?
You said you liked them tall.
Was I not tall,
and then some more?
You said I’m likeable,
but how I missed the ‘but’ that followed.
You told me I’m handsome,
then taught me there’s a difference
between handsome
and handsome enough.
You made me believe in magic,
but little did I expect
the vanishing act that followed.
May be I spoke too much,
but I was afraid that you would leave
if I stopped talking.
May be I spoke too less,
but I was afraid of what I might reveal
if I kept talking.
I know you have your reasons,
which I won’t pretend to know.
But it eats me up not knowing,
what I could’ve done better.
It dries me up just thinking —
will it ever rain again?
