I've known now, for little over a week, that it's not just me who you kiss on the cheek. I needed the emotions to settle themselves, to understand the feeling that initially overwhelmed.
"Am I not enough?" I kept asking myself, but I know I can't be blamed for you seeking someone else. You could have just told me, if I'd done something wrong: playing second best is a story worthy of song.
What the hell is wrong with you? I just need to know, as if my love for you didn't remain, or leave us alone. Now all I feel is anger, when you come back home. To me, to us. You kiss me, you hug. You pretend you had felt love just moments before, and I welcome you in and close the door. That door remains shut, and my acting is fine - for on this side of the door, I know you are mine. But I cannot continue like this.
So when next I see you, walking up the path, my mind feels bursting with the extent of my wrath. Like a swirling anger, a blooded bath - I'm determined to put an end to this farce.
As I'm ready to release all of the fury raging in my head.
I fake a smile instead.
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