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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required 6 AM At six in the morning reality hits me in the deepest part of my core, I am so good at pretending it doesn't hurt — like an actor with no audience, my eyes read everything that goes unsaid — a book with no letters and no lines, and you told me a whole story without ever once opening your mouth. You didn't care enough to ask — you'd already decided and you leave without knocking, you're no longer in my life and every day that passes is just survival, all those years of love collapsed at once like a bridge with nothing holding it up, and forgiveness is the thin bandage laid over a wound cut all the way to the bone. Your heart has grown so cold it doesn't even stop to think anymore, years of hesitation, years of love poured into vessels that never held a thing, and the red and green signs I gave you like headlights lost in fog — I never once stopped to think twice about what I was doing. At six in the morning everything hits me in the most hidden part of my core, I pretend it doesn't hurt like a glass bell that nothing strikes anymore, and you left without words — like rain that forgets it ever existed, leaving behind only the echo of our years on the walls of this cold morning. I am good at pretending it means nothing — that nothing hurts — that there is nothing, but at six in the morning the deepest part of my core won't be lied to anymore, and all the realities gather together like the shards of a shattered glass, sparkling on the cold floor of this hour that neither forgives nor forgets. At six in the morning you can no longer pretend that it doesn't hurt.
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