Work Text:
our conversations, they seem bittersweet.
like they *used* to hold meaning
an emphasis on used to of course
since, now, it’s like a hollow shell
a hollow shell of “i love you’s”
of “my love”
i hate this feeling
i hate feeling like i’m the last person you’d like to talk to
when it used to be that i was the first person you’d talk to in the morning, and the last at night
i don’t want to cry anymore,
nor do i wanna think about it
for now, i’ll sleep beside the plush toy that you helped name
and think of bittersweet things
until it tastes like coffee
refreshing, yet melancholic