I didn't feel romanced.
Nor did I feel loved,
Liked,
Or even wanted.
I felt used.
Like every other girl.
I was never anything to you,
But around.
You were never around.
No efforts were made on your part to stay together.
And work things out.
You made it apparent that I was your nothing.
And there were so many lies
Spat back and forth between us.
That I didn't know what to believe,
And what to deny.
We didn't know how to make love.
With each breath we took we grew apart.
There was no passion. No intimacy.
Just gaps in an otherwise flawed design.
We tried repetetively to fix us.
We hurt ourselves in angry attempts to fix our state of mind.
To repair the damage we had done.
But the hate left us broken.
But I loved you once.
More than I care to remember.
And now I've grown up.
And grown out of old phases.
...You were just a phase.
Where was the passion?
How can one fall into love
And then yet again, fall, out of love?
It seems there's no upside to the game of love.
Therefore, there was never passion.
