by living-glass

You never asked.

How’s your day going? Would be nice for a change. 

The calluses on the soles of my feet burned — 

With every step I took to serve you dinner. 

You always sat on the same chair of 

The dinner table, signing cheques or

Counting the days till you could envision success.

Do you remember the day,

I packed up and left? 

The day I took away what was mine and 

Stole what was yours? 

That feeling, the kind that

Leaves you feeling a little too hollow;

As if someone is carving out 

Everything you did wrong with your life on your chest —

That was how I felt when 

You took away my source of fresh air

And stole the happiness within me. 

Sometimes, the bravest thing to do, is run.