Ghosted.

She is the lover. Not the fighter. A ghost of white + silver and gold. Tearing me limb from limb with her eyes. Oh - dismissive, she glances at me, glances my way and I shrink beneath her disapproval. It's frightening, the love + need to impress. It's dreadful. This URGE to be loved by someone so neglectful. Oh how I ever survived on the crumbs you threw I shall never know. How thin I became. Starved of approval, yet there you are, the best thing that ever happened to me. Top of the fucking class. The one that made me stronger than ever, yet so alike to a brutalness not long left my weary limbs. Was this war we waged softer? More tender? I suffered less scarring + you apparently barely any at all. Oh woe, there it is. Here is a farewell. Falling back into patterns and arms of each other. We make it work, I nurse this loss like an open wound. Close to the heart. The smell of blood fresh. The pain familiar. Oh woe. She is the lover, the lover I lost.