I trip over my words when I have to look in to your eyes again and tell you I got it wrong. I see your belief in me splinter. Another part of me fades to black and white.
Let go of another good idea; watch it float downstream like a lily of the dead.
Silently you turn away.
Walking away from me, my promises of a better future hang like paintings on the walls of our life. Every failed plan etched in to our floor boards is of my own pretentious design.
Magnetic. I attract the bad plans.
Hypnotic. I convince you I’ve got this one right.
Pathetic. You must think so.
Let’s talk about you for a change.
Let’s talk about how you divide your time between entertaining my ideas and escaping them.
You don’t deserve this. Champagne wrapped in newspaper.
My bowed head. Does it convey every ounce of my regret? Forgive me. I can try again.