Broken Up About It
I’m a natural.
I see through words. I hear the lies in your tone.
I know when you’re performing. I know when you’re hiding.
I read your motives like a map I’ve traveled too many times.
But I also see beauty.
In the wild. In the quiet.
In storms and silence. Especially when I’m alone.
I feel the shift in the air before anyone speaks.
The tension. The change. The unsaid.
My skin knows before my mind does.
Your face, your eyes, your tone—
I decode it all.
And I know—without proof.
The things you won’t say. The weight you hand me to carry.
The abandonment you deny. The guilt you tuck away.
I fill in the blanks like a script I never wanted but know by heart.
I know the kind of love you give.
And what you never will.
Your loyalty has limits. Your warmth, conditions.
One minute I’m lit up like the sun.
The next, you vanish—and I crash.
We’re caught in a loop.
Old routines, same arguments, soft lies.
We bend, but never break.
We try, but never really give.
You won’t let go of her.
And I can’t stop fighting for what’s left of me.
So we fall apart—over and over.
Not for us, but for them.
And I’m broken up about it.
Because she had her chance.
Now we pay the price.
Still, we move forward.
Half-living. Half-loving.
Catching glances. Sharing a bed.
Washing away our tears in the shower.
Pretending the passion is enough.
But the cloud never lifts.
Not really.
You want to forget.
I want to remember.
You bury.
I dig.
You hate how I make you face it all.
But I write it down anyway.
That’s how I survive.
That’s how I heal.
We’re oil and water.
And we’re both broken up about it.
But we keep going.
Like two broken people do.
SK-
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