Turning to Stone

That fierce heartbeat has faded now.

I can't say I'm not dissapointed. Of that storm of emotion, only a few desolate thoughts linger.

I am turning to stone now. It's what I had wanted, but now that it's finally happening- and I know I can't stop it, I feel no satisfaction. You made the choice, not me.

I gave you my heart.
You could break it if you wanted to.
But it was for you to see.
And for you to do.

Now it's over, and I am not satisfied. Maybe I expected more from you, more action to back up those words.

I need to hear it said- that I was trash, was a toy, not worth a spare thought, a joke. A part of me still thinks of you as a friend. It needs to know that it's wrong, that we are strangers who do not spare each other a glance.

You chose to trade genuine affection for... for nothing.

I cannot like what you have chosen to be- attention monger, coward, wasted potential. What happened to art? To poetry, and the deeper side of life?
I had faith in you, but you turned out just like they said you would.

Was the mistake mine? I don't know. You never told me, and I am no longer so presumptuous of my own worth. I am merely stone.

I wonder. Should I throw away the last of this pride for one final attempt to make this end less pathetic? Or have some self respect, walk away?

So busy trying to be good enough, I didn't even realize that you didn't deserve me just as much as I didn't deserve you.

It's been easy for you. A little harder for me. But I'm getting there.
I hope this is the last of my attention I waste on you.
The next time we meet, my eyes will see through you, past you.
Atleast you've made it easy to forget you.