Not caring enough to be over it anymore.

Hate has always been my go-to.

Good ol’ reliable.

What better to huddle close to one’s bosom and lay with on the icy nights, than a red hot hatred?

A passionate feeling which encases the self, and gets the old blood pumping.

But the days of my heart racing at the sight of you should be forgotten by now,

So I ought to let the blood slow

And cool.

Reach out, instead, a hand towards indifference.

He doesn’t lay with me in sordid nights of writhing sweat and tears.

No, he rather prefers to sit in silence.

It’s a calm silence, and chills the room.

But I wouldn’t want it any other way.

When indifference keeps company with me, your face won’t haunt my dreams, nor your likeness on a stranger give me cause to run.

If I rush too eagerly towards indifference,

He will inevitably roll his eyes and saunter away.

Like an artist that’s lost their pencil sharpener,

It seems I’m still missing the point.

I don’t have any say in how I feel, much less any power over stopping those feelings.

My shoulders sag as I sigh and let the reigns of control slip from my hands,

And indifference keeps pace with me as I walk away from you.