He said, it was not done.
It was not done, to keep him in the dark.
Of all that was up and happening.
I smiled and thought of all the other times.
All those times I didn’t get a reply.
The times I’d waited out, an endless lonely wait.
Let him suit himself, smirked the brain.
He was your closest one and you hurt him, cried the heart.
While the brain-heart war raged on,
Something felt wet on the cheeks.
Wiping the stray tear that had slipped quite unceremoniously,
Look who’s hurting yet again, I mused.
It was not done, I sighed.
Really. Not. Done.