Interrupted Connection

Scattered apologies,
withered flowers, a box of chocolates.
That is what you offer me the day after.
I return to you a weary smile
a £200 watch and
4 long years of my life.
You put the watch amongst your
mismatched socks.
7PM at the local pub,
where we first met.
It’s about us, not the money.
I think of how you spent yesterday at
Football, choosing to guzzle beer with strangers.
I spent the night drowning in my own thoughts,
alone.

I’m unresponsive to the persistent
kisses on my bare neck,
the rough fingers running up my arm,
and the hungry, aggressive eyes.
A frustrated sigh, you retreat
back to the pub.
I don’t have to be here
you’ve ruined our night.

I let the tears fall down my
cheeks.
Dripping down onto my thighs.
They’re the
present you didn’t intend
to give me but I knew I’d
receive.

The flowers are almost dead
the following day.

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