This is the month. This is the month we met, only so that you would start a revolution within me. Like all revolutions, it is glorified, made to look successful. But in fact, it is a massacre. The death of innocent people. The death of who I was. The death of who you were. I look at you and I can barely recall if you ever saw me as your anchor. 

And how ironic is it, that I waited for so long, waited for the yes, thinking we were longing for the same outcome. Now I know that hope dies last

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s