Incomplete

The years of our relationship were like chapters on a book

they belonged together, and were carefully sewed with the utmost delicacy

something to be cherished

 

And then the knife

a stab in my back, a cruel twist

Another stab, deeper

 

My feelings unavoidable, and denied

brushed off, as careless hormones

as an argument with no substance

 

My mental book of tally marks loses one

and the book is left open

incomplete