Writing this made me feel a lot better about myself. I’ll probably re-work it at some point.
There’s a cold chill of you in the air and I’ve forgotten gloves.
I finally see you for what you really are – brisk, sudden and frankly unenjoyable.
Forget kitsch winter markets and cinnamon, they’re not enough alone to suppress your snark.
I used to find your eye rolls magical, we were conjurors of cynicism together.
But you couldn’t handle my newly discovered confidence,
it dragged out this devilish jealousy like a tire swing.
Your superiority complex was as textbook as they come,
but you’d deny it,
choose instead to belittle
my creativity, which was amusing, coming from a man with an imagination as vibrant as concrete.
My fingers aren’t the only thing that are numb to your touch now.
I’ve disconnected and you haven’t
Too busy typing love letters to yourself and wanking for your ego.
Oh I know, I know,
I can hear your retort in my head, how I’m dramatic, offensive, cruel.
But weren’t you the one who said I was “bitter in a good way”, as you trailed your finger down my arm? I thought you liked my bitterness?
Look, all I know is that weather changes.
One day you won’t remember me and I won’t remember you,
you’ll forget my bitterness,
my analysis of intimacy,
I’ll forget that patronising laugh
and your inability to empathise.
We’ll become replaceable snowflakes that don’t settle,
turning to sleet.