You reached out to me as if you were drowning. Burning the midnight oil and blowing up my phone until we sleep. I rushed to throw out a lifeline, but you took me under. Giving me glimmers of hope thinking things would be okay and building me up, just to break me down.

Now the conversations cease, the emotions run cold and feelings as dry as coal. Cutting off the very arm that I reached out with to help you. Trying my patience at the same time saying that you like me around. Not much more exists after you burnt this chance to ash.

It’s over. I’m done. I’m through.

I’m emotionally drained. In a sense, I’m numb. The sight of a failure having hope is dumb. Yes, it burns, it stings, it hurts at times. Wondering what could have been should be a crime.

You had a choice and you made your bed. With all the things or lack of, you said. I could try again but would it be worth it? Or could my heart even stand another blow?

I apologize for me even getting involved. Because this attempt led to no resolve.

It’s over. I’m done. I’m through.