It all happened on a Tuesday eve.

Where goodbye tears were already shed.

But some happiness was kept.

For I knew he would still love me every night I slept.

 

But life is wrong.

It seemed he yelled this throughout a throng.

"It has to end."

"I wish you did it that Saturday."

 

His words refrained.

And left me something I wish had never remained.

A shredded heart still freshly bleeding.

An injury that will never heal.

 

Calm and patient.

Hurt and enraged.

Pitiful and embarrassing.

Dejected and ruined.

 

I knew it.

I expected it.

I held on.

He gave up then I suffered.