The thing about past and memories,
they hit you with
'what you had's and 'what could've been's.
And Mia -
she was my idea of running away
from haunting flashbacks.
The platinum band around my finger
shone as I gripped a bouquet of roses.
"To her?" Mia bit me through words.
I didn't blame her.
She could see blatantly.
She could always see.
Even before you crashed into my
present life, Artis.
And the result of her seeing
was the matching platinum bands.
I wasn't a saint either.
Always the coward.
2017.
Always.
Fear of ending up as the lonely old man
Him in his same old corner in a deserted diner,
rum and bloodshot eyes
that carried silent pain.
That fear smiled as engagement rings
in our fingers.
The roses I bought you withered
as Mia screamed and cried.
Maybe I shouldn't be so selfish.
I made up my mind.
"What's wrong?" you asked.
Everything.
I handed you my unspoken heart
with those witheredroses.
"Nothing, Artis.
Just a bad night.
Again."
If I were Mia,
I would hate myself too.