My heart left me.
He packed a bag
(Sweet marmalade made from memories of love)
No reasons left, just a note:
"How is your Heart?"
Brain is furious.
"He's a bastard," he casually mentions. "and a drunk."
I think he's just as hurt and surprised.
So there is a hole. No pain, no joy...just a hole.
And the park benches become more comfortable
As the clouds speed up, the trees sway in the breeze, and the world moves on...
I don't blame him. He was right to leave.
I locked him in a tiny room with a window to watch happiness go on without him.
So he escaped and found what he could, only to be locked up again.
He's gone for good this time.
Probably living on a beach in Tahiti discovering Bronte.
Hope he sends a postcard.
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