by 7

          You woke up; she was still dreaming. You ate it all up; hers was what’s left of any. You’re shouting in vain; she’s keeping it in. You tell your complains; she listens in pain. You forget it’s that day; she forgives to ease the ache. Now she can’t put it in together anymore, doesn’t know where to place the pieces. She fails to recall her heart, remembering for yours always. But you don’t give it, so she doesn’t have anything to return. Just packing up her bags and going back to her place, her home, where true love resides. She has to live, and be treated right. Now’s her time.

        Now you, you can’t sleep anymore, can’t eat right. You’re still shouting in vain, in pain, in the wrong court, in discomfort. There’s no one to listen to you anymore and you, you remember that day—all the time. You reminisce your doings, your faults, and your egotism. You realize that it’s her all along: she’s the one. She’s the love you have always wanted. But she’s gone, like water that pours away through fingers. She’s not going back now. You tell yourself what have you done? Well I tell you, your selfishness was what made you hurt her. Your stubbornness caused her in so much agony. Your feelings, your emotional state, your being, are what she was seeking. All she ever wanted was to be loved. Now you broke her heart into a thousand little pieces, giving cracks and slipping scratches. Can you put it all back into place? Can you?