it was the hush of us that woke us up unless you were speaking & i wasn't listening close enough having selfish moments too frequent to notice us like times you were reaching; wanting hugs & my arms stayed folded up not knowing signs of love well kind of, just not my kind of love breaking hearts time after time till i find the one selfish uh? probably so knowing this woe is hitting like a body blow maybe i just write well, but don't know how to hold plant the seed, but leave before the flowers grow in the direction cowards go years disappear within hours so our sun, turns to showers now was ours; now it's, neither mine or yours minor flaws cocooned, into wounds full bloomed & sores, harpooned from wars, where roses were once the cure playful banter, now plays like phantoms while we're slamming doors not minding our manners cause nothing matters anymore but for some reason, now it seems to matter more still, when you reach for me, i'm a matador not mad at all, just disappointed cause there was once a point when, we had it all now i'm running like cannonballs from the one, that i planned to call more than a wife more like, more than someone i'd spend the rest of my life with now, more is, more of less; more of a mess & all our promises manifest regrets & i don't like it