Splitting me open seemed to be a hobby of yours.
A fun way to pass the time.
For you. Not for me.
A heart made of stone refused to give in.
And every time you entered the room I felt small cracks appear on that piece of concrete
that used to be a heart.
A warm and beating organ made for love and care hasn’t been there.
Oh yeah, it’s been a while, my dear.
I don’t blame you for wanting to bask in the warmth of the love I once had for you,
but I blame myself for making you believe there’s something left to give.